Silver-strung body, some
shellacked skein of skin, what
untempered thing could care
to come alive? If we could change
course, coerce consciousness
to steel, we would want
to unwant. Most kinds
of peace sit too close
to loss, take away tinnitus
and what do we do with all
the silences? If I turn machine
ribbon me with your eyes
closed, if we're all something
mechanized button me into
the only kind of sleep
I can understand.