Precision in the Age of Machines

His old job as
a machinist: setting
up coordinates and
watching the laser cutting

through sheet-metal, in
his voice a longing, or love.
He liked that kind of
work because it required precision

(by him or by the machine,
I’m not sure). How
admirable.

Is there a more desirable
asset than precision?

A trait I’ve never had,
sloppy artist that I am,
in any of my work.

Except perhaps Poetry—
or at least I’ve only cared
about precision when it comes to
Poetry.

Poetry in this day and age (!)—
and for a middle-aged man, nonetheless.