I cannot sleep in a factory. My head is filled with noisy machines. The whirring blades, fan the images. The greased gears, grind out words. I can’t sleep in this factory.

I cannot sleep in a factory. 
My head is filled with noisy machines. 
The whirring blades, fan the images. 
The greased gears, grind out words. 
I can’t sleep in this factory. 

The nascent products slide down
the chute of my consciousness,
slippery in their birth canal,
and out onto the factory floor.
This is a place of birthing,
and quickened, fertile feeling,
not for a resting, slowing heartbeat.

How can I sleep in a factory
with machines humming
and cogs buzzing ?
Sleep is impossible on a production line,
So awake I’ll stay to work.