pieces, clap the fish

motion over the
double yellows, collected
a retrieved
junction,
now the
wheel lists
these
constructions within
the small
glove box skull
methods
of translucent carburetors
fueling v8 love, and w/no
0-zero-0
efficiency
burning every
old ancestry every, fern
laying under
the forgotten brow,
I know the forest here
under my pedal foot, pushing
the loam down into the
darkness it hopes for,
to the roots, traveling
the turnpike up to the
clover leaf, swaying
in the breeze like a leaf
ferments a million
years burning, quietly
in the hold of an
innocent devouring
machine.