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Description
How little it takes for a mechanical heart
to leap from a chest and fall all apart:
A gasket that whistles a tune insincere
with quibbles and wobbles and notes all a drear;
A screw with a thread you could sew to a gown,
grease black for the night, rust red for the town;
And always a pipe leaking oodles of blood –
sometimes it’s a drip, but then later a flood.
Now, then, a small spring that will not coil and keep,
But that stretches and strains ‘til it can’t even leap.
The clatter they make as they fall to the floor
makes something else break just a little bit more.

Well, what do you say to that broken down face,
its eyes all astare and its mouth like loose lace?
Do you tell it that breaking is just for a while,
that lace can be rearranged soon in a smile –
that that glassy stare with its tender, dark pull
is a cup now half empty but later half full?
What compensate is there to give to the child
whose frozen façade hides something so wild –
so unsure and unbidden, so unselfaware
that really there is something more to that stare.
More than just the thought that she doesn’t belong,
You’ve planted the idea her whole self is wrong.

Description
How little it takes for a mechanical heart
to leap from a chest and fall all apart:
A gasket that whistles a tune insincere
with quibbles and wobbles and notes all a drear;
A screw with a thread you could sew to a gown,
grease black for the night, rust red for the town;
And always a pipe leaking oodles of blood –
sometimes it’s a drip, but then later a flood.
Now, then, a small spring that will not coil and keep,
But that stretches and strains ‘til it can’t even leap.
The clatter they make as they fall to the floor
makes something else break just a little bit more.

Well, what do you say to that broken down face,
its eyes all astare and its mouth like loose lace?
Do you tell it that breaking is just for a while,
that lace can be rearranged soon in a smile –
that that glassy stare with its tender, dark pull
is a cup now half empty but later half full?
What compensate is there to give to the child
whose frozen façade hides something so wild –
so unsure and unbidden, so unselfaware
that really there is something more to that stare.
More than just the thought that she doesn’t belong,
You’ve planted the idea her whole self is wrong.