flashlight raze you're the last of your kind. a lantern without a flame. a small incandescent bulb has burrowed into your synthetic shell. glass and tungsten make it come alive. too many of your years have been spent in boxes, the only intimacy the scuffed blue of your body has known a product of the steel wire and plastic handles of the tools with flattened tips that slept beside you for so long. a red ridged button slides two contact strips together. i tempt them into touching so the charge can flow and let your dim light shine. 220307 what's it to you? who go blather from