Hum & Grind

The slow machines hum
while electric blue light
flickers on my pants. How
the machines work: they work better
than us, thank you. My thoughts are with you
as I construct this earthy masking tape rake.
The angry falcon is in the van with our
hero. Under the seat is a stash of chicory
and ash. Let the bird eat my face for lunch.
I work in a metal box:
the root of my longing
is longing enough.