imagine doing the thankless job of rivets 

hold together, you beleaguered son of a bitch 

hold together, this heaving, creaking hull
this, sinking, stinking patchwork glory 
made at the end of so many stubbed cigars
held wet, by the mouth
while two busy hands 
idled towards retirement , pounding away 
christening by the light of midnight oils, annointed 
(10 in 1!) 
in the warbled sounds of static 
barely passing as nostalgic rock 
while itching bald spots, and brillcreem. 

hold together 
you cast iron bastard child 
tho your lineage is better called an alloy
loosely described and categorized in 
mutt culture : 
it's a nothing that makes you the best 
a nothing that makes you stronger 
than the rest
and it's listed just-so
right here in the blue and white and 
coffee stains or your technical drawrings

keep whole, keep whole
deeper still 
tho smaller you had better not come up less 
than you were designed to be 

another meter, and another 
it may as well be another thousand 
numbers losing their meaning 
incompressible in their impossible 
vastness 
until you are a single, determined 
burning white light 
whining pneumatic 
penetrating shallowly 
into the oppressive dark
but certainly you are still there 

still 
sinking

determinately 

aching for the sand and plastic and bedrock rests 
for which you were born 
and it's only then, as they start to pop 
that your appreciation for those rivets 
rears an ugly and decisive head. 

ah 

to be unborn : 

and to this life 

I am unwed 

itching and wet and 

q u i e t 

despite the screaming .