DeLorean

Fuck digitality, my car clock spins backwards

Fucking constantly, from ignition to the last sputtering

of lead. Backwards. Never to the forefront of the

future forever 12, 11, 10… (I probably need a

new battery, but nonetheless)

a sick possession,

demonizing any notion of Western consistency

and

unraveling the grey stone clutch of my fingers towards

the itch of my beard. DESPITE THE FEAR I KEEP ON. because

consistency is like conformity

and both are

for the collars

who

never

ever

needed a clock to be punctual. Anyways.

A new battery, $200.00. Tom guarantees it, on the phone,

for a couple of years

and puts my labor at half off. Cathodes and Copper and

I flip TomBoy a bill and smile, at the shop,

Home.

THE ENLIGHTENED MAN HATH NO FEAR

especially in his own bed.

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