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Traumatism



Our engines run on error,
superfluous gratuities,
interventions of intentions,
moldy bedding, cloudy beer,
water clear but for a bit of sediment
and a gasoline scent.

Our instincts are chimeric.
Climax-blind we paint
the landscape with plastic,
with ubiquitous rust, eager
to neuter the hermaphrodite,
to commit the androgyne.

What is that shouldn't be,
what shouldn't be yet is.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.