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Erica Bernheim

Dialogue for Robots

 


We are alone and we are afraid to be.

We do not need to be told what is missing from our lives, or where it went.

 

Our hairplates gleam like roaches in this just-born light.

In front of our eyes are too many ways to breathe.

 

We wish to be admired for our glossolalia and our knowledge of foreign architecture.

We are aware of erotica and its place next to the hearth.

 

One thing we want still is a dainty pitcher shaped like one of our babies.

The last thing we touched abandoned its shape betwixt our mighty fingers.

 

We are relieved and we are nonchalant. 

We know it is illegal in Maine to own an armadillo.

 

One problem might be that when you can fly, it means you can’t swim.

If you could suck the marrow from your own bones, it might ask you not to stop.

 

We wish to remain together afterwards.

We wish our dreams to stay with us longer.

 

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