I am Machine.
And your sweet sweeping breeze blows through me like cheap metal, and it sticks to every single organ so they smell like you now, like pink natural creeping flowers, a kudzu strangle around my throat, a choke of pollen and dew falls splat. These factory eyes move like a mars rover and your hips move like fields of clover and I stare and stare and stare for pictures to access later. Sweet love, sweet lust, I can’t tell which and the smoke trickles from my ears as the glue and circuitry and wires melt into standing water where some buzzing mosquitoes lay eggs and hatch and get trapped in amber that hangs from your neck from a vine. Gape and gawk, motor and stalk, obsessed and depressed and you sink me like a rock. Sweet mossy boulder, passing through, cause of gravity, cause of no big thing, but you don’t know the cities that crumble in your wake, or the forests that fall or the seas that vaporize when you just roll on by. Just cause your natural doesn’t mean your not destructive; you grew from the earth and the ferns but you’re nightshade and you’re poison. You’re what killed Romeo, you killed Juliet, you’re the evolution of love and all of us neanderthals are dying of old age and ineptitude. You’re forcing me to be a new model, and my parts are too old, I churn and burn black exhaust as you force me ever onward, pushing pedals and toggles and big fat red buttons trying to get me to fly like you do, trying to turn my wheels to wings but they grip rip sticky to the asphalt and I’m not goin’ anywhere.
You are incessant growth, you are steady and constant chaotic, nature exploding. I am predictable, I am immovable, I am machine.
