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The Organic Mechanic

The organic mechanic 
sets his ring tone, 
choosing bird chirps: 
the peep in the poplar or, 
sometime later, 
in the inking evening 
the distant owl 
yopping its wahoo!

The organic mechanic
runs his dog
down to the trail
in the truck
and then runs
his dog
down the trail
to the forking
paths,
the bend
in the road,
the tiny squares
of the lilac
blossoms,
thin
as paper
tissues
wrinkled
and round,
hole punched
and strewn
for confetti
to celebrate
the scented hues.
Lungs sucking,
twin hearts pacing,
animating 
feet pushing gravel,
pads wrapped in rubber
soul synthetic
upper and
leather
skin around
eyelets,
riveted
eyelets.

The organic mechanic
Thinks the space shuttle's
A chiasmic message
Rising from the earth
Like a stalk of corn