Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Rigor Mortis

Clockwork, the army of hands
Crash down their typesets
Proclaiming the world
By their slanted eyes.

But the gear-mess slips,
Tongues speak the wrong morphemes
Eyes project the matter behind them
The beast topples.

But the hands keep sieging,
The eyes searching,
Never noticing that they are dead.

Ben Finkel
April 11th, 2007

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