untitled 18

when I was young
thedays seemed
short as I was

I would take old radios
how did theywork?
I stank of dust,
ofburnt wires.

someone gave
me a brokencamera.
I scraped off green
it worked again.
they took it back ?
I was that young

I am old.
twenty-two ? obsolete

I?ve taken too many
things apart
to puttogether.
I smell of burnt wires.
of dust.

3 thoughts on “untitled 18

  1. i like the narrative style. the words that are put together is an interesting device, if maybe a bit of a “one-liner.” it’s like all that electricity and mechanical stuff messed up your insides so now you’ve become the machine. i’m a fan of the plain language.

  2. it’s an interesting idea to explore, this obsession with taking things apart and then putting them together. what a weird idea; right now there are thousands of people doing this. maybe there is something more to write about in this area – like, things get taken apart and put together and they may or may not work but largely this all goes by unnoticed. but as you allude to in your poem, it can make a world of a difference to the person fooling around with the stuff.

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