vehicles surge like clots in lungs
converging in a vein
nothing drives dead eyes and tongues
with obscure desires ingrained
the only motion is serotonin
drifting through membranes
as focus fails to find the emotions
with which memory is stained

a bird flocks with drones.
alone.

come see puppets in the finest styles
act out your conceits
sticks and stones make for convincing bones
with wires to move their feet
but the magic here is that the puppeteer
is composed of gears and springs
pull back the curtain and all is clear:
this is a theatre of things

a bird flocks with drones.
home.

the humming of distant machines
the fuzzing of broken screens

in the absence of intent a pattern still forms
wires attached to wings coalesce into swarms
the machines parse code arranged in unseen lines
in the absence of affection there is no other mind

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