i am a dichotomy of steam and electric current:
what you can see and what moves through copper wires
without warning, without explanation,
with not even a whistle but just a low hum.
my voltage runs through a chain of command
—from high to low, i’m Tesla’s baby
jostling through like a dynamo around the tracks
of uncharted frightening lands.
this is what dreams are made of.
this is what Jesus died for so long ago
and what Mary pained through her labors for
in the unlit cold gloomy manger where she lied.
i am the split of the sun and the lamp;
i am what frightens the masses since crosses became cathedrals.