Page 39 - WDickinson_Blackwell_Submission
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Lighting the Match and Burning Down the Proverbial House
more like falling asleep at the wheel,
more like the way your jaw catches in your throat
sawdust in the gas tank
more like the moment before your car
deviates from road to wild.
the mechanical uncertainties
that haunt the moment between
each moment.
the arm that catches the bolt,
the gears that crunch against the skin,
the worry that the alignment has not been
accounted for.
more like falling forward off a balcony, accidentally
spilling champagne on the
nonexistent railing.
more like dropping the lit bud onto carpet
while listening to the radio.
less and less like falling asleep easily
with the windows unlocked,
less like driving to a destination
and arriving intact.
less like a rhythmic pulse, and
more and more like the suspect ticking
behind floorboards or sternums.
when does the isolated incident
become physical law,
the constant itching on your back,
the feeling you have left the coffee maker on.
the feeling that is more like a body than anything,
that burns the house down.
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