Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Sabatoge

my heart could be a drum you beat upon
my soul clangs as my engine sputters
no brakes, no steering down this street
careening off the curb, headed for your house
the shrubs could rip at the root
flowers strewn across a hopeful garden because
you could be the piston's percussion
a mechanic with a wrench rachets
the tight bearings of something hoping
to disconnect my assembly before I drive
straight into the living room of your lovely home.

does love mean having the patience for something,
someone built with good intention,
wheeled to ride a winding road leading
to your welcoming garage door,
before i could separate from this machine,
unlike the cyborg still coupled to beating,
the rhythm of something that tells me depart
and roll these hills and valleys to meet
with a mechanic who could help me restore
all the purpose the machine was intended for.


why run-on poems like these?
show the desperation to express something
before interjection?
could someone measure the length
of these expressions?

12.29.21