The Bread We Eat in Dreams

sizzling tangerine deathglitter. But what

does it mean? Is this really

a retirement plan?

All of us Company Girls

sitting in the Company Home

in our giant angular titanium suits

knitting tiny versions of our robot selves

playing poker with xray eyes

crushing the tea kettle with hotlilac chromium fists

every day at 3?

I get a break

every spring.

Big me

powers down

transparent highly-conductive golden eyeball

by transparent highly-conductive golden eyeball.

Little me steps out

and the plum blossoms quiver

like a frothy fuchsia baseline.

My body is

full of holes

where the junkbody metalgirl tinkid used to be

inside me inside it

and I try to go out for tea and noodles

but they only taste like crystallized cobalt-4

and faithlessness.

I feel my suit

all around me. It wants. I want. Cold scrapcode

drifts like snow behind my eyes.

I can’t understand