Six

A Poem by Marshall

home at six
to a loose socket
in your thought
so mechanically
our minds churn like machines
and our bodies
wheels and cogs
of inane comfort

we climb into an elevator
to high landings
in a breathless finish
of our fires
blown out by years

going at nine
every morning
the car driving me
ahead of what i'm thinking
screwing unknown women
split image of the day

at six we will practise again
our machine like movements.