A Piece Of Work Poem by carlos Ac libera

A masked stands,
spotlit, in the gloom...
studying the secrets of the sea
or the anatomy...
boring holes, digging canals
and weaving cloth,
standing upright like a sinister,
crucifix, it could inflict...
they fertilised,
his voracious forays
into other fields of inquiry,
flying machines, armoured cars,
or alarm clocks, and mythology,
to put them in your paintings
and observed the way birds fly,
listened to the speech of the
streets, on a wooden flying,
machine, that won't ever stop