In the Long, Tall Grass
       

       Where the car bogged down,
       there now, is ambivalent machine and muck:

       fine steel factory edge,
       perfect rolling circle of the radial rim;
       pressed against
       a soft, once reluctant consort,
       stone and dirt turned gurgling ooze.

       A denouement, of sorts, 
       but beginning, too.

       This road -- once dry, lean --
       now moist and pliant,
       clutches the nape of the wheel,
       caresses the fender curve.
       A sodden, intimate cast 
       of the rocking metal beast
       is born, raised, and passed
       into the night, into the day, 
       into eventual dust and stone. 


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