The Dash
Like windows into the core of meaning,
gauges throw their needles' weight
on numbered pinpricks. To indicate
a change in speed, a car's careening
from trot to gallop, the pointer lifts
an inch or two. The engine shrieks
within the efficiency of its physique,
and still, the needle barely shifts.
Scarce as a body's slump into sleep,
change comes. To quantify
the present, we need a contraption, an eye
that registers physics. The car is a heap
of motorized gears. We were built
of miscalculation, the earth's tilt.
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