Internal Combustion

In the interest of interpolating, I can carry you, not for

giveness, but for gifts in the arc, high almighty,

I give you the slither around my belts, whir-whir,

somnambulate a thousand miles, gasps,

I can carry you as far as my insides will fall out

I’m exploding here, with mahogany blasts, you wrenched

of the earth, my curve, a slice between trees,

I can carry you so too far giving, though I turn one little wheel

over and over and over and over and over

whole ecosystems are crumbling around me

yet I go on, worrying my wheel, trying to carry you

on passed the over pass, the wavingly serene

and their faces, accomplished faces dipping

in their measuring rods to see how far the fix is,

inside, I am exploding everywhere, bits left

over every surface which is a road, which is teeth

upon my gears, weeping gears, the face-plate press

a face-plate press a plate, here, eat this, delicate distance

I am chewing up inside all over again, boom, churn

chewing up all over, miles and heads popping,

gravel gurgle, my piston’s diminish to a rattle.