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Catalyst of the fuel-injected pinhead (on a hot summer day)

by Jim Benz

Wind repels
the dull knife
of my body
like gravity
gives weight
to exhaustion,
and this broken
road, half drunk
on time-wasted
asphalt, is faithless
and wicked.
Minneapolis
on a bike
at East Hennepin
and Fifth
is nothing
but a salt-stained
pothole, emphasized
by the shattered
bottle (pointedly)
as I swerve
wide of its
puncturing gist,
and a car,
honking
in disagreement
with fate, flies
past my elbow
giving flight
to the bird
of a disparaging
pinhead
whose only fault
is existence.

06/22/2009

Posted on 06/22/2009
Copyright © 2020 Jim Benz

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by V. Blake on 06/23/09 at 04:13 AM

The sound of this poem is almost staccato--stop and start and stop and start--and it serves it really well. This, compounded with the excellent writing ("like gravity gives weight to exhaustion" was brilliant") earns this poem a spot in my favorites list.

Posted by Paul Lastovica on 06/24/09 at 12:09 AM

ah, the pinhead - lets not forget his distant cousin, the skuzzbucket.

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