Fresh Start

The accentuating dark lines
Across a cylinder of cleanliness
A soft shadow cast inside it
There’s a satellite of incoherent confusion
Garbling in the curves of my ears
And it’s wire stretches left across
The wooden surface so high in cost
And back towards this machine
This is a magnet for my focusing fingers
For my momentary calm
Only an aftertaste of that raptures fate
Remains on my tongue
We have rebegun