#machines • chromatographics

photobooth

shoes stick to the floor, we wander past the bar into a dim red-lit lounge. pinball, locked door, you. you’re a seeing machine. pull your curtain closed— shroud us in secrets that end just above our waist.

tap on a train faregate, a beep reminds us that transportation isn’t free, a short trip still costs us. you’re a seeing machine. see what we’re made of. we’re trapped here now, we can’t hide from flash.

all whirring and waiting. don’t know how long ’til our capture, our release. we kiss from impatience. you’re a seeing machine. our mouths are blurring, hands in hair, bite marks in flesh. we have no time.

falling back into the light. was there music before? we lean against the box, we cannot lose contact. you’re a seeing machine. you take time to develop. wait here: a strip will fall. freeze us in four frames.

Black-and-white four-frame photobooth strip of two people kissing.

mb bischoff

chromato.graphics/photobooth

dial

two-tone composition unknown destinations an operator obsesses over pickup & hangup

one +1 more connected than 2. you will. and the company that will bring it to you is me

push digits into holes, keep spinning until you feel the click in place switch arms, hands tire

blinking countless lines, voice carrying fast & far on continuous copper wire silence costs us as much—

draw X’s & O’s in octothorps sleep clutching our handsets there is so much to exchange during long-distance calling

mb bischoff

chromato.graphics/dial

triumph

you outfit us in leather armor tie boots tight as heartstrings we dance and breathe as one enter prisms — offset blinking

INFORMATION GLADLY GIVEN BUT SAFETY REQUIRES AVOIDING UNNECESSARY CONVERSATION

underground, understand a halo grip my thighs below your wings breathe — you ask “you ready?” to leave, to ride, to fly. of course.

don’t look down & don’t let go become part of a red machine: a bell, a backpack, a balance gripping tightly, holding loosely

i am not afraid to ride with you to glide across rock and sound my pilot is divine, invincible even molded contours promise safety

PLEASE HOLD ON SUDDEN STOPS ARE SOMETIMES NECESSARY

as we swerve, we synchronize we’re on an island, smiling wide small compared to a lighthouse even smaller against your frame

my sister thought she could fall along the same route we travel but i know i fell for you already ache is just what flight feels like

mb bischoff

chromato.graphics/triumph

camcorder

twentysomething object built to take a beating— recording blurry scenes to wound cassette tapes.

humming with precision opening up when pressed her red button worndown by many careless owners.

secondhand machine with new ways of seeing inside freezing a frame when it can’t take this much in…

an observation device for triangular dynamics that separate signal and static projecting what is actual.

a new lease on life from repairs to its internals, charging, maintenance, & importantly: regular use.

mb bischoff

chromato.graphics/camcorder

birdcage

you ask me if i’m okay ⸻ with elevators? which strikes me odd, the way your eyes do

we board & take flight to the control room, 42 teacups on brass hooks carefully cluttered views

press my buttons, down with the same force you use to operate machines. the right pressure matters

the doors close around your fingers, lights flicker surging harnessed power i can’t look away, i won’t

we fall together back to earth where we stumble into your unmarked van. click of clear recognition

the next time i step into your cage you kiss my eyes closed and pull a lever that stops time

we’re suspended⸺ trapped in moments of wrought iron pressed against their grates and each other’s full frames

for as long as we are, we get to be happy

mb bischoff

chromato.graphics/birdcage

photobooth

dial

triumph

camcorder

birdcage

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