< Issue 4 >
Techno-Dreams
by Jennifer Bradpiece
One thousand things passed under my window,
all of them deadly.
The parade of corpses,
every one of them without feet.
I was grateful that they passed almost in silence.
There was a carousel of centaurs:
part man, part machine.
I thought I recognized the faces,
but they passed me blindly, every one.
Ice skaters slid by like radio waves
with featureless faces and nonsense mouths.
I tried to echo them but my lips couldn't form the words.
Dogs with metal tongues growled on the street.
swallowing mailboxes whole.
Delivery men chased them
with remote controls screaming, "Malfunction!"
There was text transposed in the air.
I had to read the lines vertically,
upset because I couldn't lie down.
White coats with huge eyes and no ears
climbed through my window,
renamed my organs and rearranged my bones.
I found my fingers attached to my neck:
had to write in a blind backbend.
My snooze bar became
a delete button.
I pressed it, and everything
reappeared.
Techno-Dreams
by Jennifer Bradpiece
One thousand things passed under my window,
all of them deadly.
The parade of corpses,
every one of them without feet.
I was grateful that they passed almost in silence.
There was a carousel of centaurs:
part man, part machine.
I thought I recognized the faces,
but they passed me blindly, every one.
Ice skaters slid by like radio waves
with featureless faces and nonsense mouths.
I tried to echo them but my lips couldn't form the words.
Dogs with metal tongues growled on the street.
swallowing mailboxes whole.
Delivery men chased them
with remote controls screaming, "Malfunction!"
There was text transposed in the air.
I had to read the lines vertically,
upset because I couldn't lie down.
White coats with huge eyes and no ears
climbed through my window,
renamed my organs and rearranged my bones.
I found my fingers attached to my neck:
had to write in a blind backbend.
My snooze bar became
a delete button.
I pressed it, and everything
reappeared.
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