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.