Automaton Poem by Quênia Lalita

soaked through clothes
thrown to the floor

broken bones
keeping her from walking a mile more

a store around the corner
sells good beer for a reasonable price

she's around the pacific ocean though
trying to minimize the residues of explosions in her very core

reaching for a kiss that doesn't exist anymore
mumbling his name while sleepwalking

an automaton, a silhouette
nothing but a shadow thrown to the floor.