Cyborg Anxiety by Faye Susan

Cyborg Anxiety

An Edison bulb is nostalgia, swinging

like a disjointed eyeball.

Slubbed grease toes, maintenance

of viper pronged gastrointestinal gears. Essential

if the oxidized night terrors will ever amount to more

than leak of hip socket lubricant; an internal bleed

or premature release.

What did father say,

in the khaki chipped workshop, pine dust ankle deep?

Citric spark plugs roll in lint and keratin crescents,

the name of childhood friendships, coded 404.

Steam curdling in esophageal u-bend, sucked

to depression of bellows.

A screw rattles under the occipital. Scrabble

for Philip, or was it Robertson?

Bless the hallowed comfort of their girth,

the plunge and turn.

Still the arrythmia of valves, the mousey skitter

of metal lives.