Message
by Laura Kasischke
On the other side of a wall
made of circuits and switches,
I hear my brother’s wife whisper, It’s
her again. Let the machine get it.
But you were the one I wanted, Machine.
You with your little, replaceable parts—
some of them fingers, some of them hearts.
You with your little, replaceable parts—
some of them fingers, some of them hearts.




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