B. R. Dionysius
Flow My Tears The Cs-X Said - Poem by B. R. Dionysius
Our car has been autumised.
The late twentieth century shitbox
adjusts to the earth’s quick gear change,
filters reason’s dead flakes between
its meniscus of windscreen & bonnet;
parasites wind-farm through tin gill slits.
Oak leaves finger it. Alien scales shaved
on pre-winters’ kitchen bench. Materials:
organic matter on white metal background.
Our car has the mechanical equivalent
of bowel cancer. Rust cells eat into its arse end.
Salt, the micro-recycler, iron’s crystalline enemy
gives rise to robotic Alzheimer’s - production line
memories. The first time summer turned over.
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