Hands (ver. 5)

[TranquillityBase]

Hands

I.

Mechanical marvels
stiff tentacles
full of touch 
holding nothing
but the future.

II.

The tips of three fingers 
are amputated.
I can press them 
against solid matter
especially other flesh
feel them plunge inside,
absent fingertips
defining another world.

III.

For months
in idle moments
I’ve studied them,
reading the creases
on empty palms 
the scars on the backs
of knuckles
asking, “What now?”

IV.

The rest of me depends 
on these blind explorers
to set me free of what I can see
catching or releasing
the transient comedies
of earth’s persistent gravity.
Spirit evades them
they are never disappointed.
They revel in difference
reeling in the in-between
of surprise and expectation.

Hands ver. 4



I.



Mechanical marvels

stiff tentacles

full of touch 

holding nothing

but the future.



II.



For months

in idle moments

I’ve studied them,

reading the creases

on empty palms 

and restless fingers,

the scars on the backs

of knuckles

asking, “What now?”



III.



The tips of three fingers 

are amputated,

middle, ring and little.

I can press them 

against stone, wood, or flesh

feel them plunge inside,

a stranger’s fingertips

defining absence.



IV.



Hands are the sum

of thresholds we’ve crossed

prophecies we’ve denied,

actors bound to an author

who cannot free them

from servitude, or absorb

the multitude of their thoughts,

children who never cease

to be born.







Hands ver. 3







I.







Mechanical marvels



stiff tentacles



full of touch 



with nothing in them



but the future.







II.







For months now



in idle moments



I’ve studied them,



reading the creases



on empty palms and fingers,



the scars on the backs



of my knuckles



looking for an answer.







I don’t know what



the question is.







III.







Three years ago



working on a lawnmower



I amputated the tips of three fingers,



middle, ring and little.



I can press them 



against stone, wood, or flesh



feel them plunge inside,



phantom fingertips



explaining their absence.







IV.







They are my mind’s actors,



set loose upon realities



they can hold back or set free.



















Hands ver. 2















I.















Mechanical marvels







stiff tentacles







full of touch 







with nothing in them







but the future.















II.















For months now







in idle moments







I’ve studied them,







reading the creases







on empty palms and fingers,







the scars on the backs







of my knuckles







looking for an answer.















I don’t know what







the question is.















III.















Three years ago







working on a lawnmower







I amputated the tips of three fingers,







middle, ring and little.







I can press them 







against stone, wood, or flesh







feel them plunge inside,







phantom fingertips







explaining their absence.















IV.















They record my history







keep me still







and at the right moment







grasp the attendant joys







of books, tools, and lovers,







trained to trace







the murmur of reality.























































Hands































I study my hands















mechanical marvels 















stiff tentacles full of touch















palms with nothing in them















but the future.































I’m asking them something,















just what I don’t know.































I’m only sure they are mine.