What the Machine Does by Coleman Bomar

Demetri made a machine
To cure impure thoughts
Of mad brilliance like
Mechanical babies,
Murder bots, or
Men with skin wings.

Demetri’s machine cracked

Open his frizzy head
And steel claws clasped
The brain
To drop in a jar
Put in a paint shaker
To pour back into
His red frizzy head
A dull pink putty paste.

Demetri is married now
With three kids
And works in a tie
But when he sleeps
He sweats
And dreams metal bodies
Dancing,
Killing,
Bleeding in the world:
Being


Coleman Bomar is a writer who currently resides in Middle Tennessee. His works have been featured by and/or are forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys, Plum Tree Tavern, Prometheus Dreaming, SOFTBLOW, Eunoia Review, Beyond Words, Bewildering Stories, Isacoustic, Moonpark Review, Maudlin House, The Collidescope, Star 82 Review, Boston Literary Magazine, Nine Muses Poetry and more.