Mechanical Separation

        It's not a sphere, not quite. 

        It's made of parts, pieces that fit together along seams grown together. 

        Planes. arced, curvature'd 

        like crisp bleached leaves lightly curled in winter air.

    Interior mysterious, liquid? 

    Possibly something solid 

    suspended, 

    moving, 

    stretching in confounded bounded bound confinement. 

    Something with limbs perhaps, wings even, a tail? 

    Nothing as sharp as claw or tooth. 

    no bone but the sphere 

    thick, runny, opaque, clear...? 

    but puncture — a simple thing 

    a breath of air

    a hole, nail-head-round 

    it is red and thick 

    it is red and it spurts 

    when we puncture the skull draining like jam thick bubbling out below 

    a brief moment of freedom 

    momentary exaltation 

    from a monstrous trepanation 

    atchoo 

    like a sneeze 

    the clatter of hooves on steel 

    howls and wails hosed out.

    you've never seen eyes 

    as desperate

     as pleading     

      as these