you: a porcelain cyborg atop a bridge
of drenched oak, underneath turquoise rain.
beneath soaked silk and satin garments,
skin and sullen bug bites; glue of puss,
hooks of sweat and rainwater: adhesives.
stuck-on discomfort. your salvation:
opposite end of the bridge, rainbow-
illuminated. you: a car without wheels–
idle legs, longer and sturdier than trees.
no one but you. built-in guilt program.
failed hope mechanism. you: immobile
with pangs. salvation: six feet too far.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen