Existential baby steps, cross.id
where vocalizations meet the dialect
labeled in the milage book, exit 360.
“This article may be expanded with text translated from the corresponding article.”
A pump, rainbow green, liquidates mauve.
Wooden seat-beads filter
a breeze in aspirations. Poetry by the
routes, fragments of seagreen glass swept to the side—a
windshield framing color hex/es—
suns tucked beneath
blades of verdigris grass (exit 776)?
Motormen are encapsulated
in glaucous shirts. Comfy, generally
“This article may be expanded with text translated from the corresponding article.”
made of cotton—fitting the dangle of belly,
the tire, formed by convenience, layovers:
fried potatoes—the shape, gömböc—
hands ready at the shiny black wheel,
the iodized salt melts, exit 888.
Bones rumple sideways
repeating old jokes to make the lumbar
feel-displaced in time;
no more revolutions from the wheel.
only micro-revelations in the fissures of the dash
bear on the slumps.
“This article may be expanded with text translated from the corresponding article.”