She drove an ice pick through
the camera above her computer screen,
and the forces looking in on her
were taken on a ride through the color
coded space of misread light.
They wouldn’t see another night
of her alone where she was unsuspecting,
and the screen that lights up everything
reflects what she has chosen in her eyes.
Since she knew they had been listening
they scaled the metal tower
in the back lot where they smoked when
they were bored.
The red lights at the top
of it were able to be turned and like
the eyes of ancient monsters they could
see things meant for no one and for all.
The process was a grinding saw of precise
connected alignment, and when blocks
fell into place they had a picture.
Back in their chamber of infinite sight
the room was filled with pale gray light
that etched her face so perfect as she
bit her nails and worried out the window.
They sat in their respective places
silhouettes on either side, they knew
what they were doing, and there was nothing
left before them she could hide.
Teleporting Typewriter 