- Vol. 06
- Chapter 09
You own me, you need me.
I am the proof of your being
and your badge of honour.
I will not wear this false white skin
this yoke of acceptability,
another of your games.
You made me, now you hide me lest
you should be judged. I am more than
the sum of your parts, you, just tooled up flesh.
If I am riveted by the well oiled cogs of other
automata it will send signals to my standard
metal strip that turns the angle bracket to nudge
a breast tremble.
Your favourite flanged plate could loosen and crank
the hiss of sound, the slow slide and fall of my arm's
pump as toothed parts gear a synergetic reach
My widget hammers on the anvil to my own beat
I own you.