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!
TheRE!
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:

ga-GUNK.

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

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About scribblelip

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