#ilovelittleduckies

[dylane]

Crashing

Turn the bone, stitch the wheel we spin as if eternal rust-guts stuck in neutral spots, searing, crumpled in two concentric speeds — faster, then splash — we can’t control. Cut the body’s engine. Press the pedal lightly until hunger hangs from our hands in soft petals. It’s time we lack, the certainty of moving on, a headlight still blinking.