Diagnostic I

Where you are going
you cannot take
your things leave
in this locker the rivets
at the corners of your blue
jeans the curved metals
stitched into the flesh
of your bra where you
are going your fastenings
can only burn you we will
push what remains
inside this tunnel if
the walls touch you if you
start to panic squeeze
the sensor we have placed
in your hand what
do you mean like a friend no
you must go
alone you may speak
to the machine the machine
will speak to us we will
make every effort to
answer you will hear
a groaning you will feel
inside your ribcage
rhythmics amped-in
from an alien planet
shut your eyes
we were trained to see
for you we regret
to inform you
this tunnel will not lead
you home we
regret to inform you
the touch of God is
percussive
though if you lie perfectly
perfectly still we
will make music
of you we will find
the hollows underneath
your animal hide we will
make you resonant
we will show you
the very whites
the dying fields
of your mind