The Body’s Case
The town between their bodies 
is peopled at times, 
& the great yowling machine
roars its way this way & that,
impelled by friction 
& a wayward wind    the brightest
of reds    a fire engine on fire!
There must be a riot going on,
teasing the blood, riding
the bones to a frenzy.
When the city in his head shuts down
& the remaindered neon can’t save
anyone, he tries to make peace
with all their manufactured suffering.
No curation can recover
those conversational corners 
with tar paper & feckless railing;
she’ll harangue his way to the grave,
burning the bitter bridges through.
There’s a man in the trunk
who hammers & pounds, nails
like a screeching of tires
or whales, drowning 
off the coast of Nantasket.
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