The Invisible Hand

What is the 'Invisible Hand of the Free Subject' like to the world of objects - variously transforming and displacing things in its Promethean wake? "Words are a stain on silence." - Samuel Beckett

A restless will sets the pens a-stir,
From an idle corner, a chair surmised,
By the patient desk where pages learn,
New sermons of the floating hand.

And a flash of light in formless dark!
A breathless slurp, a shuffle of cards?
So words as burning stains did part,
The silence of waking leaves.

And ink tears through the startled white!
A nervous pause... a reckless swipe,
As queues of object gazes hide,
From fortunes unforeseen.

The cancelled screens, a gasper's prayer,
A trail of smoke, a creak of chair;
By the steady, uncertain air,
Turn to but morning's waste-