I have always questioned
the mechanics of mundane
things, such as how
the dishwasher works
or where pants land
in relation to where
I placed them initially
in the washer, but birds,
I never question
how they work. They
have wings and they
flap them, what’s
the problem?
(originally published in The Stray Branch, Fall 2023)
If you drive a car whose
combustion confuses fuel
for air, the engine will quiver
along smooth concrete.
At certain speeds, a clanking
rotor is similar
to the natural cadence
of heartbeats in embrace:
amplitude becomes a deafening
in the stillness of night.
Let a rotating machine of mass
be mounted on a stiff spring
to fix support. The pieces
must move vertically in
a single degree of freedom
even if the rotor is unbalanced,
its hypnotic center missing
one valve’s intake,
forgetting the other’s exhaust.
(originally published in Lakeview International Journal of Literature and Arts, Summer 2017)
dad rode motorcycles
through west virginia
mountains gathering speed
in the stillness of wheels
yet you are afraid to change
oil or fix your slow traction
of time– anything mechanical
is coiled magic in function.
the broken-down car sputters.
the ghost lays on cardboard
leaking, dripping synthetic
black splotches on concrete–
no knowledge remains.
there is a rattle
in the carburetor
when you drive
(originally published in The Good Men Project, Summer 2017)
Force plus distance creates the want.
Machines make work easier to do:
pick up the phone and call her.
A sloped surface can move the heart
from one peak to another by decreasing
exerted force per beat while increasing
the distance over which the want
can travel– a simpler way to have
without the work of wanting.
(originally published in Randomly Accessed Poetics, Spring 2017)