Title: Clean Cicatrix
Almost always faithful, I know this machine’s language:
a stubborn double blink for hunger,
a lazy beep for exhaustion,
spewed up suds for frustration,
silence when scorned.
Almost always thorough, I see the untouched stains:
betraying erstwhile misgivings,
anointed medals on cloth, in remembrance
of every single defaced imperfection.
Always the wildest, loudest; sightless fighter:
bleached blindfolds distract all senses
in a chlorine afterthought; two-fold function:
repelling visible light and the intoxication
of a sombre reality.