It was molded perfectly.
The surface was a metal, sleek and cold, but also screaming!
The mechanics cranked softly, tiny wheels spinning—the farthest from rusting…

Gravity didn’t affect this next part.
The gears floated on the empty air below it.
That air was the part that stumped us all.
It was the feeling that we didn’t want to accept—
To accept a feeling that even though we don’t want to deal with it…
it’s still there.
And everybody knows you’re trying to work through it.
It’s not that you aren’t trying…
That’s what that layer was.

Then there are somethings you just know.
This layer feels good.
You feel good.
It’s like a melting candle,
pliable, soft, fragrant.

The next layer, the inner workings of an airplane,
beat up red numbers, 63. I wonder what it means.

After, a flattened circus tent,
especially sewn to fit.
It’s warm, but damp.
You like it?
I can’t tell if I do.

Then the next later depends on all of the people
who make up who you are.
This is nothing and everything to do with you.