Depression

[tectak]

It announces itself at the door,
a steel pointed probe,
ridiculous laugh. Neck-back-arched
guffaw.

You stand in the center of a stagnant pool. No
colors to be sure
but gray and cool they slink about like rootless spooks,
checking your soft core with that steel prod.

Your body parts iron ball and chain you to a gloom-spelled doom.

The echoing of water dripping in some far off iron chamber
slows down to a groan where sound waves ooze
like pimpled oil.
The mercury bar falls, and with it its silence
a baffling crash.

Oh, but windows are a fright now,
letting in blasted light and skin and bones and
frailties which despise. Pink mouths and their
castle white teeth mechanically moving up and down, toot tooting,
faster and faster,
out of rhythm or sense.

In the bleak city where buildings loom over pulled
shrieks in alien sounds of metal pipes and cars,
the olden days flash by: a black and white still of a horse drawn carriage and a black top hats silhouette against the building's
sky.
And far from the madding crowd, in some penthouse apartment,
those honking, shrieking, howling calls rise, and coalesce,
high up in the sky, where they blur, and hum, and rush into a comforting drone, like a reassuring clock tick, ticking away.

You doze in your cedar smelling attic room where paper dolls dangle from your sweetly lazy arm.

hy po,
Hmmm....sorry about the pun...it is easy to be flippant about this sort of commitment verse but there is a whole lot to consider before making any judgement on the poetic merit. You may well have begun with the end, it certainly appears to rush down a funnel in to a conclusive bucket, getting faster and faster as it does so....but your namesake in his Maelstrom managed to keep in touch with the reader whereas this does not;as someone else pointed out it may benefit from a conversion to first person BUT you would still need to tidy up the imagery so that the one chain that holds the piece together is made of connected links rather binding yourself up in several unconnected chains...it is just too fragmented.
So, not to be flippant, I can see much of what you want me to see...there are some solid chunks being lugged around like "..but gray and cool they slink about like rootless spooks,
checking your soft core with that steel prod." Who could argue with that....but what does it do to keep the chain intact? Your next line, "...Your body parts iron ball and chain you to a gloom-spelled doom."
uses a complex verb construct which just leaves the building as it is so far away from the crux of the piece...not that I am entirely confident that I know what the crux is...and there is the root problem, I don't think you do either.
To square the circle then, it reads as if you had a good end and cast about for the rest of it; adding strange cameo collisions one after the other until we have a fine old car crash.
S1 What does " It" L1 refer to? Ah, you will tell me....no...the sentence structure collapses immediately and I am unsure whether "it" is a steel pointed probe, a ridiculous laugh or the tautologically inseperable guffaw. You think that is unfair? Well, here is the stanza AS you wrote it.
"It announces itself at the door, a steel pointed probe, ridiculous laugh. Neck-back-arched guffaw." Pick the sense out of the imagery...you cannot. Nor can I.
S2 is made disconnected because "it" has given way to "you". Who...me? Whoa! We now have some grey "theys"...who they?
....and so it goes on.
Milo makes great noises on the subject of central or core metaphor. This piece gives his argument in favour of such a basic premise, massive credibility.
On the plus side, it is refreshing to see such diverse and off the wall thinking...but it needs to be controlled or the beast, who is bad verse, will get you.
Best,
tectak