Not Biologic; Neither Machineric

Narrow our bent lines burning not bracketed and silent driftwooden
Set upon hearts spent drunk and love and admiration and hatred
but as a fuel short-cut and wiry into our engine-bodies
Gasoliner; their bound anti-claustrophica scattered run hot enough to rust melt and release
Stroke, now not cold and immediate, but immotive our momentum spent in electrics
Pulsive engineer toward
Not Biologic; Neither Machineric
No end on us in a fight for momentum
Currency shot near a dark hole in my chest,
the vivid fringe of memory best sent against our frictions
And strong healthy Injustice will shine radiantly from their eyes.

It is not as bracketed and silent driftwooden
It is as a fuel
Not burning but hotter
Blackish and immotive
Because it is stolen