What is that? Operating at the peak,
With its electricity already a jumping static,
Ready already – faster than thought –
For when the buzzing gets progressively more
Violent,
For when the atoms hit the shaky limbs
And are sent into next week – a quivering
Wreck of toned flesh, soon to snap
And be weak.
Feared like it wasn’t before, when
What small acceptance fostered
was still exactly that,
the charged monument exhales
In two sparking plumes
And scrapes its foot on the gravel.
For the seconds now and the seconds next,
Man is machine and exists no more.
Here is the time, perhaps at its core where
It is man who becomes what machine is for.
