When a fear fights an impulse
and instincts collide
and one gets a hit
on the underside
of the id-brain,
I wonder what knockouts could mean,
or if ever the motionless glued to the floor
could anticipate god from machine:
If that deus ex machina, there in the stands,
with the promise of aid, from invisible hands –
secreting out wonders, from miracle glands-
could avail,-
the improbable keys -
for escaping this jail.
When an impulse dies
from ungodly force
and then gets back up,
in resuming its course,
I can see what a knockout could mean
– when it comes back to fight
without god or machine.
YOU ARE READING
Deus Ex Machina
PoetryIn which it is questioned by the speaker whether or not the deus will come ex machina.
