Welcome To The Machine (Vagabonds, Weasel Press)
Welcome To The Machine
somewhere across an improperly fathomed distance a woman that I call mother fears the idea called love
she’s very good at prayers before bedtime and all the Amens needed before the first bite of salad, but love
that faith is broken – lacks a mustard seed
none of those men were ever going to be Jesus and Jesus was never going to be a lover.
she remembers hands and songs cringes at certain beats cowers at thoughts of touch
because she knows where the hands have been and how the mind plays soundtracks in its head
welcome my son, welcome to the machine
He was in pieces and she spends her days on jigsaw puzzles and 3D puzzles and puzzles upon puzzles because she never could solve the puzzle that was him.
pieces were always missing.
Now I call from a distance and he calls from a distance and those phone calls wreak of distance…
Like the space between belief and doubt. What do you mean he touched you? What are you saying? What exactly happened?
Like the gap between fear and love He was my soulmate. She was my favorite. What exactly happened?
Like the dash between revelation and regret He was abused I was abused You were abused How exactly does this happen?
Welcome everyone, Welcome to the machine.