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More poems by Bill KnottBill Knott | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Bill KnottBooks by Bill Knott

Obsolescent

Bill Knott

Bending over like this to get my hands empty
Rummaging through the white trashcans out back
Of the Patent Office I find a kind of peace 
Here in this warm-lit alley where no one comes.

Even the rats too they know that nothing new
Is going to get pitched out now--no formula,
Not one blueprint will ever be found in these
Bright bins whose futures are huge, pristine.

Old alleymouth grabbags my attention at times
I see the world flash by out there, glow-glow as
The floors of decontamination chambers-

I go back to my dull, boring search, foraging
For the feel it gives me of the thing which has
Invented me: that void whose sole idea I was. 

Added: 20 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 23 Sep 2018 8:27 AM | Viewed: 4059 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2605/ | Viewed on 23 September 2018.
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