What We Think Of (1975)
We think of your spurious garages
robed in the feeble edges of flat tire lungs
your oil cans like robot teats
for monkey wrenches howling around the ominous batteries
sublimated spark plugs and anxious metal pedals.
We think of your lucite panels
your millions of drops of what color is that paint
your manic neon tubes and delicate sockets
plagued with the symptoms of exhaust
all gray-toothed and punk around the nuclei.
We think of your exposed hollows
your pop and jingling clothesline threads of lifepatch
humming ballads on everlasting and conclusion
to your rejected driveways
the impregnable axons of a constricted vision.