gather your parts, any old junkyard
components may vary: soft squishy
head, two coats flesh, its mother’s eyes
assemble in the school of fire
solder limbs, wind torso—tighter than
without constant pressure subject could
learn self-repair, cultivate wings, muster
flight, i.e. the systemic sin of rising
spit for blood, springs for heart valves
weld shut from the inside out
leave outside to rankle and rust
in its sleep, perform routine perforations
on its still salvageable psyche
stick plenty foreign objects in sockets
pay no attention to that fragile sticker
render obsolete all that rendered you
do no more, no less
autonomous machine
will dismantle itself
More poetry at Used Furniture.
