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Image Machines

by Richard Colinson

I stand at the trailing edge of the day
And rock back on my heels as the sky forms
A flattened arc to the horizon
Where scrubby winter trees meet clouds

A day of harmless mechanical folly
With trucks and ropes in the woods
One set of machines tending another
In a muddy symbiosis of pleasure

And as I watch the men busy about
With winches and the like
I let the whole scene form in my mind
As fully as it can
And I wonder how I ever got a sense of

How large the world is
And how small are the maps inside
Us flickering image machines

02/07/2010

Posted on 02/07/2010
Copyright © 2020 Richard Colinson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Rachel Bennett on 02/07/10 at 09:24 PM

I like the detached spectator's perspective here, and I feel that you set it up quite nicely with "I stand at the trailing edge of the day" and concluded it nicely with the last stanza (which further forces the reader to take a step backward). Great work!

Posted by Therese Elaine on 02/08/10 at 03:29 AM

I am reminded of a short science fiction story called The Map Makers by Frederick Pohl -they used it for the radio program X Minus 1 -it ties into your idea of the maps in the head...

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