I Build Engines
by Bruce Boston


 

I build engines
from the lines of battle
no matter how they are drawn.
 
I build engines
from the lungs of drowned sailors,
their last breaths billowing the waves.
 
I build engines so lubricious and lubricated
you can feel them in your blood
before you hear them.
 
I build engines that churn entire continents
without revealing a word.
 
I build engines that feast on copses
of burning hair and thickets of eyelashes.
 
I build engines from milk and meat
and the decanted semen of aborted generations.
 
I build engines as natural as the habitats
they immure and incinerate.
 
I build engines from the babble lust
of court whores and camp jesters,
the confessions of the desecrated and shamed.
 
I build engines from the sins of the fathers
and the rumored indiscretions
of mothers and wives.
 
I build engines that fill your boots
with scorpions while you sleep.
 
I build engines that jackknife your dreams
with ingenuous apparitions
and ingenious doppelgangers.
 
I build engines from ivory and scrimshaw
and the jawbones of apes.
 
I build engines
from the lines of battle
no matter how they are drawn.


 

About the Author:

Bruce Boston's poetry has received a record seven Rhysling Awards, a record five Asimov's Readers' Choice Awards, the Bram Stoker Award, and the Grand Master Award of the Science Fiction Poetry Association. He is the author of forty books and chapbooks, most recently the humorous collection Etiquette with Your Robot Wife (Talisman, 2005). Bruce lives in Florida with his wife, writer-artist, Marge Simon. For more information, you can visit his website.


Poem 2006 Bruce Boston.