Tires

Because nothing, not even car tires can hold.
Anxiety about clicking keys, sticks, hopeless.
Nothing flat is left over.
Even that road has roots underneath its potholes.
Just rising.
That tire flew right off.
My organs decided not to stay tight either.
Clicking from the door locking.
A car that is crashing is like a bowl.
Spins as much as the recipe calls for.
As fate does.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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