She was a trap built from
tigers and rusty pieces.
Feral, rotten, effective.
Eyes me like prey,
and I am.

I am falling slowly,
so slow they think I can fly
so slow they think I glide through
life and love with my feet on a
carpet of marbles and oil.

21st century type.
Sharp like a knife,
but not like a suit.
The music is so loud
it’s muffled.
It is smothered by itself.
I lost my wallet and limbs,
and they were replaced with
alcohol and prosthetics.

Gheists flooding
the contraption,
singing mantras
in tongues.

Now I seek a greater machine;
Skin carved from marble,
and lips from bleeding
citrus fruits,
acids becoming
nourishment.