They're eloquent; their letters magnetised to
string (haphazardly?) into grooves
formatted to formulate the art-clinking marvel
of a precise word-woven double helix

that's rendered and bent
to humanised spectrum. It makes a
mechanical wonder; it has a heart pumping
searing blood, made not from dust,
but 26 pieces of calligraphic nothing.

Still sitting here I can just poke
the sludge I spew in broken lines
and try to craft a clay poppet.