Plath vs Carlisle

It was not a heart, beating. 
you are False. 
That muted boom, that clangor
Flesh and grass, 
Far off, not blood in the ears 
Sirens. Bird eyes.
 Drumming up and fever 
To impose on the evening. 
you know you are false.
The noise came from outside:
it thrills you  A metal detonating
you are charmed by their hate,
Native, evidently, to 
these walls that,
you can almost see through.
that if you went to the other side
might show the reverse of you.
your negative. the inverse.
 These stilled suburbs nobody
Startled at it, though the sound
Shook the ground with its pounding.
It took a root at my coming
Till the thudding shource, exposed,
Counfounded in wept guesswork:
Peisinoe, Aglaope, and Thelxiepeia
Framed in windows of Main Street's
Silver factory, immense
We hung out by the edge.
endless days.  blood hot like the nights.
Hammers hoisted, wheels turning,
but you hated it more than you
hated why we were therethis is not death it is something safer.
Although, I admit I desire.
the mute sky. Secretly you prefer it this way.
Stalled, let fall their vertical
Mirrors. Film.
Either way you get to see yourself/
Tonnage of metal and wood;
Stunned in marrow. Men\
white  blank.----------- -------, -------
Not secretly you prefer it this way.
Without stop those greased machines,
Tending, without stop, the blunt
reverence

it does not restrict you.  

Indefatigable fact.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
  
 
  
Some of the best work that I have done has been through
embedding myself within a text. I find myself wanting to 
connect with peoples work in order to understand it more 
fully. This has been a bit of an experimentin to poetry. I 
have taken Sylvia Plaths Night Shift  and  injected it with 
some found text and some of my own. I'm not really 
sure if it is a cohesive piece of work but it does form 
a starting point for further experiment.