Alien Hands

Her hands float like pale aliens
Creatures with too few connections
They are not good for clutching
Turning and prying
Only for dangling, waggling
Pinching, and trying
Those hands can’t open circle doors
Glass knobs elude them
Barricades to entry everywhere
Scraped to clean
They’re on their own, it seems
Some bio-hydraulic born-in
Disconnected mode
She’s malcontent
With these Graceful
Life impediments
And trains them without end.

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