The machine
it cannot be gathered
or rejoined, extinguished
sound. The pathway, once clear,
eats noise, the teeth of the machine,
a Singer with no tune.
shunted cloth, pushed forth at pace.
But the link is gone.
a chasm without light. It pulls
and you feel it sometimes. But cloth,
it cannot feel, they say. You can’t feel
what you never had.
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