just something I’m working on and wanted to share as I way to motivate me…

 

SMITHEREENS

The boy in the car next to us on i-90 isn’t even a cinder, or a broken piece to stab into, or a flinty fossilized fingernail we could use to reconstruct the homo-us that speeds along here, with candor spilled in the cupholder, the steering wheel slick with conversation’s cancer, and deep in the engine a cylinder that twists and pumps–

                                                                  –or else what does it do?… something we imagine we know, something we think we could describe with a fucking metaphor or a goodamm simile (I AM A CRATER OF MEANING WITHOUT YOU)….but when, in a moment, something goes terribly wrong. we will not think part/shaft/fluid...we will think “turbine” or something other shibboleth that keeps the car moving…we will think, in a moment as thin as a (l)ash, that the boy in the car next to us isn’t looking at you or me but his own reflection, the illusion dark and itself a death, a flash, not even a cinder.