Jake's Flea Market

varoom
my lips shaped   vroom varoom
sounds like i was three and four and forming
journeys spun into journeys across the days   prairied
to the cloud bearded horizon

and from metal coils   spiralled
rustily and spiralled up in the seat frame   bared
of thread and upholstery and of all the stuffing of days   sped
beyond the measure of speedometers   smashed

i heard the call inevitable
from the long house across the prairie that greened
me to the gold of grownup time   clocked

it clocked me away from my childhood drives   coiled
and coiled and i   sprang up to answer the call of time   unmarked
but for the coils of rusted innocence   ringed
on the seat of trousers long ago