Driven (A Poem)

from Animals with Sharpies (Drawn and Quarterly, 2013) by Michel Dumontier and Neil Farber via Personal Message

I grew up in a small team

and when I became leader I carried it with me, first

on my shoulders, then in my hair,

then knitted closely into my jersey.

My internal organs provided support.

My last post was in a communication channel. My duties

involved scraping fresh materials

from its walls. I flushed birds from the air

with my publications. I thought on my feet. I slept on the floor.

I came to know the experience of sound.

Over time my strengths built upon one another like strata.

My knowledge base, once tender

became thick with callouses,

horned with excellence. I later built from it a motorhome

which I parked in a field of data.

It now houses many different audiences

while my diverse hens

work the field,

surprising information in the oxalis.

I am at home

when no two days are the same; the day

that is the same projects a fear in me from beginning to end.

My weakness is the day that is too much

like itself. I leverage it onto a table, any table, for I am flexible

and cut out its environments. They come readily, glistening.

I have spent whole weeks with my mouth pressed to a projector

my heart commissioning oxygen. I have been driven

by the workforce of my passion. I have been caught and lifted

by deadlines which have redrafted my skin. My body reports to the soil.

My resulting blood has pleased me because I have only ever bled plans.

from Animals with Sharpies via Personal Message

from Animals with Sharpies via Personal Message

About ashleighlou

Person, usually on bike
This entry was posted in Poetry, Working. Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Driven (A Poem)

  1. Wonderful!! I will be re reading this again and again. It provokes my curiosity, and excitement, great result for your poem!!

    Like

  2. Steve K says:

    the first line is perfection, and it gets better from there – superlative enough for ya?

    Like

  3. donlad says:

    I tried phoning the anteater but that number doesn’t work.

    Like

  4. hugh says:

    my body reports to the soil … nice.

    Like

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