An Eighteenth Century Beam Engine

An Eighteenth century beam engine,
simple, with central power,
a church of steam.

An engineer approached,
and created
sharp movement of spiking light,
a natural power directed, dangerous,
water torn with untiring ferocity.
Its true purpose, he said, is to
pump the mine dry.

An artist approaches,
and savours
wild yet predicted movement,
bitter, nasal charcoal,
a noise like Hades imagined,
steam jetting from each and every joint.
Its true purpose, she says, is to
overwhelm the senses.

A shaded man approaches
and ignores,
he counts his beans to three,
and thinks of four,
he imagines rows of black and time,
a regiment of flies.
Its true purpose, he says,
is thirty three percent.

image: po

Dylan Harris

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop

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