Machine Dreams

She's my withering doll,
Lashed up and full of grinding
Gears and screws,
She bleeds and bleeds,
I hold the scars with kisses,
And I know she dies at night.

Replacing capillaries,
Capped canaries in
Minor fashion shows,
The fusion of her brain
With the interverse,
Microscopic thoughts
Of microcosmic changes.

Wrought and wracked,
I'll hold her,
We're out to tea, just…
It's not her dialogue that frightens me,
But she ticks from the inside,
A sinister clock
Administered not by
The laws of science or the universe.

She screams and she laughs,
A wicked game is played
Inside her head,
We dance,
Buildings collapse,
And I can't get away from this
Beautiful machination.