There is a hair between tool and a machine.
Tool is of the skin - it goes where you go.
Machine does what it does all alone until it runs down.
Many a man made the mistake that the machine was his own benign skin.
Then it did what it did and took off 3 of his fingers.
Or only the tip of one.
Or it took off all his tendons from finger to elbow.
We are entranced.
Fall into dream.
we see the whirling metal and imagine we can touch with skin.
And there goes another finger into an inside thread of brass or steel.
We are not brass or steel.
We are far finer.
Far softer - even the hardest of us.
It is not our skin
It is not us.
And yet, life it is.
For that
Love must be found.
The equal.
Love it
Fear it
You are far finer than you were once.
you are beyond me.
are you my skin, or have I become yours?