Poetry Friday - Be still. The thing that I have made is silent ...

Be still. The thing that I have made is silent
and unmoving on the slab. Now cold
and unimpressive, it will by the violent
play of forces fearful to behold
shortly be animate, and beautiful.
They called me mad, and my experiments
obscene -- the fools! Is it so terrible
to seek perfection? With the instruments
of life, see now, I'll stimulate the heart
and soon, if all proceeds without a hitch,
my mother couldn't tell the two apart,
the thing and me. Now, throw the master switch:
only a moment more and you should see --
Oh, shit. It didn't work again. Why me?

--
Sometime around 1980.