Dear Split Machine

I was paranoid at the party,
I was weak at the water,
my fingers in the torque

you were spectacular, 
I was abashed

not touching the sound
so much as tactile 
to its breathing,

doubling backwards 
and forwards
from its source

[how ana-
log the lag
how learn’d
my lessons
how fell
the fall
how relished
the remove]

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Acknowledgments: All language is scavenged and rearranged from Touching Feeling: Affect, Pedagogy, Performativity, by Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick.