route 14

sometimes, you are riding around with your heart-parts hanging low out of you,
not so unlike the guy on the highway
with his gas tank riding on the asphalt,
throwing back sparks.

maybe even someone well-meaning
pulls up alongside you, like we pulled up next to that guy –
pointing and gesturing:
your HEART ParTS!
BehIND you!!
abouT To GO bOOM!

still, you think: i know how this machine works –
know every possible sensation —
know when the heat is too high,
the friction too much –
know when to pull over & give those macadam scuffing
valves and atriums, ventricles and the grand aorta
a breath, some time to
cool down.

but then,
the next thing you know:
you are on a highway you
did not mean to be on &
before you can
look the other way you see
someplace your eyes
don’t belong
and then:


it’s not always an explosion – i’m pretty sure that
sometimes the bolts just
give way and
the dangling
hits the pavement
right where you
last meant to leave it
and is gone.


About scribblelip

walking down the road with a book of conjugations in my hand.
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