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Ashley VanDoorn

Who is not reaction engine
and apprentice escape-artist
summoning simulacra poses
from imposter markets?
The masters answer by pointing
to small doors opened
beneath deceiving trousers.
On their inner reels it is written:
invention requires tunnel visions.

Ask the patent
who alone deserves fame.
We're a match if we blast our hatches.
When hunches hitch our hinges hang
and my ration extends to meet you,
most lately, prank infatuation.
I blame
how I used to think
my attachment
to objects was a deep
flaw until I saw
I could implement a subject:
supplement sentiment.

Now that magic and mechanics
mediate share-shifting fictions,
arousal is my spouse,
my smotherboard,
Merrily wary, at home, alone, I am
geared toward
prolonging beloved's belt
always bolting—
rechargeable batter-my-heart
thrice-pronged wand.

Though the 5-mouthed crank generates more
noise, read the wireless lips:
Must shape the molds each hoax
while its levers crease skimmingly.
But the milk-pump which is not a mouth
nourishes in reverse, without rigidly
accomplishing fluid that remains preserved.
When real thing substitutes strap-on,
efficiency is differently welcome.
As coil curdles, context suctions muck.

Corner speakers too loud to distract
my dialed room tuned to comfort zone
but the fabled clasp of units whittles me kindle—
           brittle vision
           brutal tinder—
barchart horizontal from gather to group to exclude to clash,
vertical between sapling and strong
self willed simple isn't diagrammed
in us
is too much variation
and not enough difference
is progress
exchange of faces or place
taking change?

Later speech generators swear
unusual composition is not illogical.
Is a competing logic.

The chess master thought he was playing a brilliant
box but he was playing a man inside a brilliant box.
The thinking machine umbilicaled to the wall
when programmed to build itself builds a moving machine.

Ashley VanDoorn

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