we ate the tails of cows until
only engines remained. i went out
with my red rubber ball. have you ever
searched for something so fiercely
that the lack became a part of you?
i walk one the side of the highway
trying to find a car to dismantle
& take the heart home. headlights
spit their moons into dust. once,
we lived a life of spines & cellars.
now, everything has a pair of lungs.
time is a spider web without a keeper.
when we crouch & press bolts to our lips
i wonder when the machine started?
a bumper. a thigh's worth of rubber.
we used to drive across the bridge
& into new jersey. water grinning &
promising a mirror whenever we needed it.
the car barrels past but i wrestle it
to the asphalt. dandelions with their violins
playing from the cracks. a thicket
of goldren rod turning grey. piece by piece.
a light bulb. a glove box.
the creature roamed for miles
on nothing but america. what a pulse
to follow. gas station watering holes.
the voids in the ground where
tongues are pulled loose. the animals call
to one another as i work. i find the heart.
a golden ring into the beast.
i swallow it hole. i will lie to the others
& i will say it did not have one.
fill a backpack with guts. follow the foxes.