She thinks in binary
all her dreams are numbered
and there's only five.
Long into her darkness
like wires in the walls
nests a notion
wrapped in string and horsehair
rusted wire springs and rhinestones
yellowed in their pewter hinges.
When the sky was low and blue
eating the edges of the city
and the pavement was warm
and rough as a wool sweater,
the days never ended or began
they just laced together
like a chain of rough colored paper
held together by staples.
When the ocean was always shallow
as far as you could wade
you could spend sand dollars
for some time in the shade
the only keys were for Victorian locks
and sand was everywhere on the floors.
Deep within the hardwiring
of her mind the layers of ancestry
color her hair, her eyes
fade with the days' digital numbers
soundlessly click the monitor's heartbeat
a being in the cyber age
living in her mind.