A Cyborg Lover Would Be More Dependable
I am uniquely suited for my karaoke solo:
I will sing “I’m Your Man” and Leonard
Cohen will die a little bit inside. I know dried
flowers are bad feng shui; in fact I am versed
in the sounds of decay. Babies, pointing
at the homeless vets on Burnside and saying
“baby,” pointing at piles of sheets on the hotel
laundry carts, saying “baby,” pointing—pointing—
incessantly pointing! A cyborg lover
would be more dependable than you, you
and your erratic heart beat, but you, you
are not that different: half-human, half-perfect
bodies, one built, one born. I’m just looking.
I’m only looking for the chance to storm the stage
and if by some sleight of hand I happen
to save the world, I mean by unhinging—
(trying
not to think about tongue worms or
acid rain today)
the dying
must be stopped they only lead to
further decay. Well, this is something
that has crossed my mind
| Ellen Welcker |
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