Saturday, February 5, 2011


Earth holds a rough imprint
under patches of green
layers of chap
before prime and crescent
facilitate the pass
of clutch and throttle
topsoil ripped by steel
teeth thrown out
from a giant erection.
Pushback the grass
the hornet’s silence
the huckleberry
hoist out
all available nourishment
drop-swing the bucket
pack the silted pile smooth
chain creeps over the boom
dragline swings smoothly on its pinion
hands grasp levers worn shiny smooth
a lump in my throat
as the big spool begins
to sing back in
the sweet smell of diesel
soaks my hair
every day
the engine spews black
breath glow warmed
plugged pistons
top dead center
bottom dead center
the raiment of a working man
stain that never washes clean
becomes acceptable
in the ratcheted trance
of caterpillar tracks
the tilt and swing
of a mammoth mouth.

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