#phsysic

            𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃    /   in   the   chassis  of  a  vehicle.  no  blasphemy  ,  wrist  deep  in  the  inner  workings.  oil  and  coolant  stain  hands  ,  sour  apple  green  ,  candy  apple  red  ,  shadow  tinged.  the  grease  seeping  into  skin.  the  criss cross  ,  sand  dune  lines  of  his  palms.   metal  bodies  and  the  left  behind  corpses   of  cars  long  past.  it’s  dark  ,   the  sun  just   now  setting   ,   autumn  had   crept  up   on  the  world  , ripped   the  life  from   the  branches   ,   oranges   and   reds   and   the  dark   umber  of  the  rotted  earth.   the  wind   in  the  junkyard  smells   of   rust   ,  of  steel   ,  of  oil.  he  thinks  as  shadows  swallow   visibility   ,  darkness  devours  his  gaze  ,  that  this  wasn’t  the  worst  place  to  end  up.   KID  IN  A  CANDY  STORE  !  say  ,   where’s  your  golden  ticket  ?   fingers   trace  hoods  of  vehicles   ,   flashlight  acts   as   dying  light  ,  wandering  deeper   into   this   cemetery.  the   graves  are   hap-hazard   ,   the  bodies   ,   metallic: fuck-me  red   ,   fading  indigo  ,  sun  bleached   black  so   old   it’s   asphalt   grey.   he  knows   these  corpses  of  course.   (  could  probably  tell  you  a  year  ,  make  and  model  ,  half  blind  and  dying. )   forget   puzzles  ,  this  is  what  he  needed.   once  it’s  fixed  it’s  done.   released  back  into  the  wild.   A  BIRD  FLOWN  FROM  OPEN  HANDS.