185/365: Recording Machines

I employ Christian themes in this poem like I'm not some kind of secular humanist, but I like the stories, even if I lack the belief.

Gayleen Froese reading at Chapters

We are recording machines
that build recording machines.
We may not be much more than magnetic strips,
the world detailed in the four-letter alphabet of our DNA.
Sometimes, I wonder if this thought makes me paranoid.

A woman once pressed me against a building and said,
When you die, don't go to the light.
Those figures there are The Doctors.
They come to harvest what's left.

Her breath was a hot liqueur that snaked down my throat.

I have never had the conviction to deny that she is right,
that we are instruments for another, less holy, motive,
that the sheep's clothing may truly be the fact of our own existence,
and that we are, indeed, the machines recording,
not the ones being recorded,
not the ones being,
not the ones,
not the ones,
not the ones.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com