The ___ Poetry Series

The Factory

Cla-Clunk!

Dust,

Clumped up in feather gray clouds,

In dark roach-infested corners.

Cla-Clunk!

Floating about in the choking hot air.

Glimmering like dying stars,

In the bleached yellow sun rays,

The dust gathers.

Cla-Clunk!

Metal walls,

Forged from silver sheets,

Once pristine.

Now brown with rust,

Rough like bark.

Some wall sheets are peeling off,

Bang,

One falls off,

Adding to the pile on the floor.

Cla-Clunk!

Conveyor belts,

Its black coverings torn,

Mutilated by holes upon holes on its surface,

Trudges forward.

Cla-Clunk!

It jolts forward, as if startled,

Stiffly,

Clumsily jerking its cargo.

Cla-Clunk!

Boxes.

Boxes, new yet tape-sealed,

Some are bright like a rainbow,

Others are dark like the depths of the sea.

Cla-Clunk!

But,

No matter the appearance,

Its cargo.

Cla-Clunk!

The conveyor belt,

Recklessly trudges forward,

Again.

Thud!

A box, ladybug red,

Falls off,

Its contents spill,

Clatter-Tink!

On a floor of the factory,

Swiftly gathering flecks of dust,

A porcelain doll.

Cla-Clunk!

Rosy cheeked and grass eyed,

On a noisy bed of packing peanuts,

Stares at the ceiling,

Polished orbs shiny, yet empty.

Cla-Clunk!

The Porcelain Doll

Hiss.

Glass, melted down,

Hot enough to burn.

Hiss!

Scalding skin red,

Blackening bone until fracture,

If one wanted.

My creator thought different,

Glass, now liquid,

Its color as vibrant as viscera.

Rumble!

Poured into mold,

Cast iron doll mold,

Dark and warm from use.

Tink!

My creator is patient,

Passionate.

Tink!

First light,

Bright and blinding,

Stings my eyes.

My eyes?

Jin-Ga-Ling!

I look down,

A dress, sky blue with sunrise orange lace,

Greets me,

Jin-Ga-Ling!

My hands, as pale as the moon,

Adorned with gloves as skinny as a seedling.

They are snug,

Icy silk fabric digging into glass skin,

Golden bells sewn to wrists.

Jin-Ga-Ling!

My shoes, black and glowing,

Shined with wax,

Topped with familiar round bells.

Stand out, on my pale legs,

Thin like a twig,

Painted snow white,

Like the rest of me.

Jin-Ga-Ling!

When did my creator do this?

Snort!

I looked up,

A beige wrinkly face,

Sagging like a wet seaweed,

From age and gravity,

Smiles at me.

Creator smiles at me,

Bleached yellow sun rays,

Hiding his eyes.

The Creator

Tick-Tock!

Time,

Tick-Tock,

Its metallic claws as long as fingers,

Had aged him,

Tick-Tock!

Tick-Tock!

Once rock smooth skin,

Dug into quicker then a lightning strike,

Tugged at like bird does a worm,

Tick-Tock!

Until flabby like blubber.

Tick-Tock!

Sight, once clearer than any lake,

Were plucked by these claws,

Eyes, now dull,

Sight, covered with an unending fog,

Tick-Tock.

Tick-Tock!

His brain, once a fortified factory,

Now infested with roaches,

Tick-Tock!

Bitten into, poppy red blood gushing from marks,

Bruised and blackened.

Tick-Tock!

Decades only feel like days,

When bleached yellow rays envelop him.

Tick-Tock!

The Bleached Sun

Creek-Whine!

Thick steel doors,

Skin-freezing to the touch,

Open slowly,

Cla-Clunk!

Cla-Clunk!

Bleached rays of light,

Banish away the shadows,

The factory is bathed in beams.

Cla-Clunk!

Cla-Clunk!

Dust bunnies,

Spawned by a dying and dead creator,

Cla-Clunk!

Scatter like mice, but still,

Evaporates with the sun,

As if made of water.

From corners,

Roaches catch fire,

Pop! Crackle!

Bright orange flames,

dance upon tiny brown bodies,

In celebration,

Cla-Clunk!

Cla-Clunk!

Silver sheets,

Rusted sheets, from the wall.

Cla-Clunk!

Crumble to iron gray stone,

Then pebbles,

Then rich brown soil.

All in the factory,

Claimed by the pale sun,

All but a porcelain doll.

Near colorless,

Rays flood the toy.

The fragile creation glows,

Glass skin turns to flesh,

Emerald eyes blink.