Bats in Blue Twilight

It’s a tight fit.

Every margin measured

to the thousandth inch.

Rag soaked in solvent.

A valve knocking out of sync.

Thick stink of oil.

 Spinning stones

 and sparks and spiders

 lay their burning poisons

 in your ear.

Windshield smashed with insects.

Frogs pitched through dust and distance.

A body lost between the highway and the river.

Tape deck on the seat beside me

squealing codes and signals,

like leaning diamond into metal.

 Spinning stones

 and sparks and spiders

 lay their burning poisons

 in your ear.

  

  I was acting on the license,

  believing in the perfect

  silence of the moment.

It’s a sound that shapes the world.

My father deaf.

My own ears ringing.

Bats in blue twilight,

in the violent grinding

less of everything.

 Spinning stones

 and sparks and spiders

 lay their burning poisons

 in your ear.