Autoplastik

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