Show me the workings of a
world rapt in-news
in-fear
in-side.
What are its mechanics?

What are the mechanics:
a single, sterile globe.
All closing doors,
all shouting to be heard -
engulfed in digital vacuum.

Show me the workings.
Give me something I can touch, something I can taste,
something I can grip
between my teeth and bite down.
Hard. Just to check.

To check the mechanics of navigating the blueprint
of a blueprint
of a home with a sky frozen in a window pane.
The mechanics of a curtain closing.
– there was, in the end, nothing to be done –

Show me the workings.
Lay them out in front of me,
tell me their weight.
Let me know the numbers add up.

Let me know the mechanics of how that scale crests and falls,
heaves and gasps
its decision. Its desperation
to deliver the bodies of evidence in
grams, digits, days, weeks.

I want to see the workings.

Show me the workings.