Two machines recognized

This poem is a machine
takes images
from grand things
some things
outdoors from the foothills
Evergreen or Genessee.
It builds seeing
the image, its sighting, and recollection
into metaphor
some thing, naturally,
we cannot see
a frenzied image
stretches lines across
any number of returns
pauses

long enough to undercut
original images
in all seriousness
what seemed big looks smaller
the rhizomal network of Aspen
the Eastern slope made simple
this machine produces fires
lit from abandoned loose-leaf
love letters, the engineered
mountain suburb,
protestants redacting anything resembling
wild growth

This machine is
a broken anamorphosis.

The next machine is
a car, two thugs, and a briefcase
a noir cliche
verbal bombast
a none too-subtle yellow light shines
whenever it is opened
provokes dumb awe
philosophy has a similar machine
called a spectacle.