My first car was a Pontiac;
Winding down
County Road 577,
Hand atop wheel,
A boy and his machine,
Letting snow swoop by like
Hyperspace.
I miss those quiet rides.
But dreams dissolve, evolve,
And I’ve another tangent
Upon the tip of my
Tongue –
Something, somewhere,
Somewhen, fitting,

And prior another attempt at sleep.

One by one, through the machine
I’ve watched them go, boys and girls
Not yet mature, not yet solidified
They come out different, I barely recognize
Some I can still see, changed but still intact
One by one, through the machine
I’ve been there too
The fear, the expectation, what was I doing
Could I object, they said I could
I never believed it
One by one, through the machine
Every day, someone goes in someone comes out
I’m pained because I know it
I firmly want to explain to them
And to those who will others in
One by one, through the machine
They come out soulless,
Are they dead inside or have they found it
I never did, but I wasn’t ready
Who says that you have to
One by one, through the machine
But on who’s terms are we going?

Greased wheels, I knew you once.
I loved to balance like a child.

Roaming the paved streets; riding is like flying.

I knew you when the store held you back.
I chose you from behind handlebars with purple streamers.

Your tires silently carried me to classes,
each brake stop signaled that we were close to our arrival.

I sat on your worn black seat like I was on a throne of sorts.
Even though that seat is tattered with one rip on the side,
all I saw in you was my own **** pride.

Spokes, I knew you once.
I played your tune each journey that we went on.
No hill was ever tall enough, no road was ever too bumpy.

Gears, I knew you once.
Click, Lock, Click
sometimes you were tight and never let me ride
sometimes you were loose and my feet went flying ‘round too fast for me to catch
                     what you were doing.

I knew you once, when time was young.

This body was birthed without an
attachable heart

Love won't even try to cling

To a machine

Already falling
apart.

Planet of imprisoned pasts,
Time of dark and ragged masks.
Life of chants and pointless tasks,
Take a cask,
Let living last.

Yet under the cloak of the waterfall,
Despite the warnings in nature's call;
The Unhooded work on a better machine;

To spin a storm;
And set them free.

The times are dark,
But we have light
Along our hidden stream.

Yet it is the city's heart
I've been invited to set free.

Yes, my dear,
The times are dark.
Need you grant me your leave.
Yet you know I must be gone
To a place beyond our age.

You'll see my paint on
Central halls if I do succeed;
Saddening to watch you fall,
As I step in the machine.

Mono tone
Repeated Humm
Western on the screen
Orchestral
this place is
full of time
so many stories
washed away
by the same machine
over and
over
and over
It’s amazing to me
The filth in
A place of cleansing