In my nightmares there is metal everywhere.
The little one is hungry,
two-dimensional
I’m not sure if he’s real or a
creation of my
imagination and the wires
the image projected flat
onto the glass —
The eyes are still the same.
When he was broken, once
I carried him and had him cast.
I am waking up and
waking up and
waking up and
not.
When I finally sleep, I’m cradling
all the tiny things
Trying to keep the other ones
from tearing out their spines.