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March 27, 2013


Tell me, beauty, do you remember bliss?
Tell me true, oh, long of memory, you.
The medical procedures that preceded this.
You and I.
Clockwork kisses.
In the morning, after work.
A chemical wedding, a binary bride.
The mechanical ministry of The Turk.
A furnace roared in the cellar.
Pipes overhead rattled with its dying breath.
He read us hollow verse from a punch card.
And we repeated every line.
I didn’t know then, how much they’d hurt.
In time.
But I’ve put on a little weight.
A little puppy fat.
How’d you feel about that?
It’s OK though, you see?
I’ll feed it to the machine.
Beauty rendered in stainless steel.
Once I’ve learned to operate it.
I’ve earned it, so it’ll cooperate, yes?
It doesn’t work that way.
Shield red lights from the eyes of the day.
If only I’d sewed you up right you’d have stayed.
But you can’t build a wife from pulleys and rods.
The mess of cable behind the TV.
Tied up in knots.
It’d take your whole life to address it.
Control doesn’t always mean stable.
Embrace chaos.
Everything rots.


From → Poetry

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