Watchdogs

even in front of rare rest the watchdogs
a drool start     hand-crawling what they are
a new york     of small decisions
all those little figures walking the skin
of an apple     its own
leave the air to breathe
its own pollutions     its own natural
traffic jam of neural memory
	
	to see everything you’ve known to see
	born written in electrical fondness
	the minute that you close your eyes
	the view out the bus window
	all those faces     all that glass
	then open your eyes again

from Yew Nork (2014)