Suspended inanimate
Blood and bones helplessly hang
Under less than supple skin
No voice at home to articulate
Push buttoned purred engine
Depress the clutch, pull away
The body falls in for the ride, held
At a safe distance, safely levitated
Tick-tock, tick-tock; slower, but
Still a pulse of circulation
A station to move through
A moment more awake than last
Stretches with unsugared tea
Tea and meditation
The engines inclinations ingested
The fuel kicks in; hot ear lobes listen
To soft rock played on the radio
The sun is up, in the cloudless sky
Hung over
The seventeen fields of rapeseed
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