outside in the freeze
a glass pod
attached to
a mechanical arm
sprays a slurry of
juiced sugar beets,
leftover cheese brine,
and calcium chloride
onto the waiting wings of the airplane.
your body is right
next to their body.
your body sits
only inches mere inches
inches inches
from their body.
you prefer to
speak through
your fingers.
you are more
comfortable speaking
silently. they,
head down in
reverence and you,
head down in supplication,
speak to each
other without making
a sound.
four hands
slide silently over
pressure sensitive and
haptic screens.
once dormant,
your tongue knows
when it is time to
express. the flesh
of their body
digitized and
made again flesh.
your tongue prowls.
eyes closed as though
sleeping silent as though
sleeping with no face
as though sleeping.
bodies with no
faces throw bodies
at the conflict.
theirs is an illness
of malignant hoarding.
theirs are followers
hollowed out by
their malignancy.
bodies taut
with youth spread
and soften in the pale wind
of age. faces
blur. bones sharpen.
the translucent wind
lifts these bodies, despite
their overwhelming weight,
as though bird, as though
feather.
the sky fills
with the faceless, faces
turned skyward.
your tongue elongates and
snaps back.
their head bent
down their body
shuddering
like drifted snow.
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