Tagged: production

if the universe

if the universe
were a packaging machine,
would we have a say
in how we were picked up,
folded and flipped, traversing
axes we only read about
in engineering
textbooks, so that
when you and i bump
into one another
in the middle of
grand central, time
is meant
to stand still, nothing
breaks, and no one
calls for the job setter

every other morning,

every other morning,
our bodies are
caught wanting –
in mid-
production, dreams
tend towards
warts and all
when there is no
means for escape