Greasy black smudges cover the door frame
like a goth-punk Martha Stewart might stencil

her home. My daughter climbs the walls. Again.
I yearn for spontaneous human evolution or new

technology painlessly installed over night.
An artificially intelligent sound card, speaker

and motion detector chip implanted in my skull.
It activates that calm. Frightening automated voice.

(Her Divine Serenity)

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