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31 January 2009 @ 06:35 pm
two poems | Glenn Bach  

In cycles. Rattlecough
of rotation, Sputter-
splash (the big sound
of equilibrium).

Crawl the long needle.

Rev and the engine again,
aim for balance
in the closed hood.

Whirl the engine in its encasement.

Coil the tachometer. Note
this great sound of primes,
the crying sound,
the gas pedal, the fires.

Wire thin. Will tick
and tock itself
to sleep.



Of bottlestrain,
a porous layer of spheres.

Interstitial volumes of air,
of bed and barrel,
piston and boomerang.

Of gravity
and scrapeglass,
asphalt and its water

this invention
condones nor
thin of edge.

of what is written.