The Brain Truck

Catherine Wing

He’s all magnet to my brain truck,
polarized and pulled in a stark,
strange-thoughted veer. Lacks ground
and full with impulse. Queer
about the eye, occipital. Never blinks
but ringing. Loads the charge
and smells of sulfur. He needs riddling
and a bottled cork. Requited
to a screw and paperclip, who breed
in his electric coil. Affixed,
riveted, and set. Readyness’ ready.
He’s neon’s key and mercury’s
destination. Silver-blooded.
Metal-branded. He bonds me thick.

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