Woman, Machine, and Mausoleum

Vines overtake her house.
From the inside, she builds,
increases the conservatory
with raw red I-beams,
replaces panes thickened at the base, 
grown brittle at the top, 
with limestone blocks.

Mechanically inclined,
medicine-taking woman with one hinged hip,
unlinked from information,
she fades from her clock dials like radium.
Dirt's tracked in.  Old seeds sprout.
Decay measures time.



Catherine Daly



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