Another iron horse, but ridden
benched and hunched around a soft road.
A treadle for a parody of walking, like car pedals.
Streamline plastic updates ornate metal:
the ideal: cool manikin in a window.
Machine’s heart, a needle lunges and flinches
through passive cloth, while unthimbled
fingers pulse and push, a landscape
punished hem to hem.
Beyond the needle’s leash, beyond its point,
its echo, pain’s reflex. Pinned precision, futility.
Whining safety, steel’s limits, the power
to poke, to prod a switch.
A horizon that’s forbidden.
A challenge to rage through the fine seam.