The orbiting reflector
Turns night into day: petals ping

Accelerated workers
swarm into the plaza
A blur on the soul's dead instrument

Everywhere, windows are blanked
To the same newsreel

I alone
Inhabit a mockup of the early nineteenth century

I, the great idealist
who confesses
On the first page of his diary: Father!
There are no living atoms

& the diary answers: Identity
Is that
Which is eaten from within

Another man is partially assembled
On the table

Another module
Unshrouded, revolves in sunlight

filtered through noise
A simulated victory

Crawls like a glove
Animated by music