}}
An unschooled brightness, it arches
its heel. The carpet does not ignite.
It will not fold back its parched lips—
the hush of a broken mouth.
It dreams of the other, the right pair.
It will not let go. It will not walk.
A sitting duck.
An upturned apocalypse.
excerpted From A Roomful of Machines
This site is designed and maintained by GONECASE