BIOLOGICS + THE MACHINERY

On the pads.

Vertical,
reclined,

with two canines.

The iPad mini
pelting out
some tinny metal
from the glass,

and me

all thumbs
in the phone.

A few twelve-hour days
still humming through the chassis.

No workstation.

No grand apparatus.

Just the little domestic cockpit
at the end of the day,

everything running
on residual charge.

Peripheral,

my left ear
picks up a dog

licking
her irritated paw.

Wet little repetition.

Lick.
Lick.
Lick.

Until something else
enters the field.

She moves up to command.

Nose on the mantle.

Nose in the shades.

Inspecting
whatever invisible intelligence
has gathered there.

She gruffs.

Once.

A complete statement.

Then collapses again.

Assessment concluded.

The other one
is inclined to tweak,

gnawing away
with those little hamster teeth,

some microscopic
canine maintenance,

until she too
chills out.

And now

all I get

is a tickle of breath
in my ear.

The smallest signal
has become
the closest one.

Metal still leaking
from the glass.

Maybe this song
is on repeat.

I don’t know.

At some point
the song stopped being a song

and became part
of the machinery.

It keeps going
because it can.

The dogs sleep
because they can.

I lie here
somewhere between them,

still glowing,

still scrolling,

neck crinked,

hands holding
one last rectangle
of civilization.

Me,

my metal,

and comrades.

All in slumber

while the world burns.

Not peace exactly.

A small defended patch
of it.

Beyond the walls

the enormous machinery
keeps turning.

Traffic.

Feeds.

Sirens.

Markets.

Wars.

Everybody insisting
upon the emergency.

But here

warm breath.

Sleeping dogs.

Tired thumbs.

Guitars
through inadequate speakers.

Lithium.

Glass.

Flesh.

Steel.

A nervous system
slowly relinquishing
the day.

Just us biologics

and the machinery.

Somewhere along the way

we built machines
to keep singing

after we got tired.

Tonight

they do.

We lie beside them.

And after a few
twelve-hour days,

I think

I’m ready

for a break

or two.