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Maelstroms of carbon dust whirl
upwards through the furnace
breath held until the swirling black soots
arenaceous particles tickle inside my nostrils
ejaculated later in catarrhous snotty emissions.

Giant ventilation ducts overwhelm
the upper reaches of the hot-press furnace room
flexible throats connect to the gaping mouths of the fans
sucking out the dust-laden air within
and the sulfurous fumes spewed luminous from the burning
    carbon black gases.

Cutting-edge technology of engineered ceramics
amid the Dickensian sweeps
computer-driven cycles
amid the high pressured gaskets leaking oil,
Induced heating from high frequency electrics
fluxing graphite susceptors to white-hot heat
as the dust falls off my clothes.

Ezra Ben-Meir, History:   #288, June. 1987, edited Oct. 1999
©- This poem, with acknowledgment as to source,  may be used for non-commercial purposes.

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