Machine of youth, first body
I walked into one night.
When God gave me wheels,
I pedaled until nothing could touch
the sole. When that pedal became
an engine, I drove away from my family,
past the bridge, over the underworld.
I wrote from far away places until
I could no longer picture their faces.
Then the universe said, let me thread
their voice through needles; let me
string sounds, syllables, songs until
there is a box for posing. But there is
a camera lens & I can record my imagination.
Document distance. My Polaroid is pinned
by magnets. Inside your living room,
there’s a broadcast. Everyone can see me
become famous for my alternative lifestyles.
You can like me because I’m like you.
Or I’m imitating you until I’m brand new.
Tell me I’m more than a thumbnail.
Yesterday, I turned my phone off & wrote
in my calendar with pen in cursive:
I missed your footsteps on the porch.
And you unlocked the door, humming:
don’t disappear, come here.
Then my home became a frame;
let me give you a tour.
These are my feelings two-fold
passed and given to the next person.
Now I’m touching grass—
becoming a King.
When I’m removed from real life,
I live ghost-like, I learn
the algorithmic-shape of human touch.
Now there goes the blessed bone-dust of
two lovers inside a rocket. Their last will
is carried by machines. Don’t you wonder how
we will bury our beloveds,
so far away from the beginning?