Motor of the World
Tell me you’re in trouble, I’ll find a machine that fits that.
Like a watch tick, like the memory of,
like the storm, worm or substance.
Like the grease you fielded me in.
Fold me over your fold.
Lift me over your year.
I’ll be the next.
Tell me in text, dear. Tell me you’re—
Tell me your sign, then.
Tell me you’re fine, I mean mine,
love.
I drew so many new words.
I didn’t have time for a line.
