Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2015  Vol. 14 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
 print preview


Bare chrome, fast grin, hot pipes
remind me I have skin. Piss off,

you plush backseats, I am a flag
whipped taut in wind,

a cyclops with a golden eye—
I have a rampage caught between my knees.

When black road opens its throat,
when the engine kicks and kisses,

when I’m nothing but an articulate machine—
drag bars, shaft drive, V-twin. Darling,

if I idle like a tidal wave outside your door,
come out, unwind me from my leather.  end  

return to top