THIS WAY

those meticulous lines
so clear under
the desklamp
in the light

nothing at this high level
possibly frazzled,
sublimely repressed

I wonder
how they look
8n the shadow
what happens to
that cross-sectional
perfectly angular shading

when in state of shadow
things leak into each other
diametrically blur

one step away
from the beginnings of
the jagged the wayward,
the ice-engineered,
the downward spiral

and me
playing chess against you
crushing you in a few moves
even when my
game is
inadequately considered,
too unpolished, simply linear,
absence of
tactical wizardry in
my pedestrian play

Oh fathers, wish it were the case
that sons
caught in deadly duels
with them in
the underbelly of
cloud cities (which
some architect had to
dream up
ex nihilo)
knew as they traded
blow for blow
what lay behind
that steel mask

to give you your due
you were the master of
everything out there
in here
that comes in three dimension

new how the tools cut
to your drawn specifications
could make
the thing conceived of
exactly

when it comes to you
and I however
no worse joke
than the one of tooling
to make
the one of match of object
and its conception

how could you have got it
so wrong fucked up
every single
measurement

and yet
think me grateful having
been produced this way