two poems

our machinery

I open my collar to the wind and salt

and no sooner have I muffled the whistling kettle

when out of the obvious
murder walks a panther

of fine husbandry and meticulous scent

and lo! I am broken and suckled

laid down like a barroom brawl

tongue rolled like an axe

from unfastened buttons weapons are delivered

the machinery, the pistons and combustion

(smoke shivers)

our gears are meshed

the mirror is a nail

inside the shell

a fractured diamond

sparkling dust stirred

by waves of electrons

the mirror is a nail

that clears a path for

streams of light to divert into

we draw ourselves maps

only to wander blindfolded

we carve the ground 
with our will to disintegrate