my chassis so heavy it's sunk

into the manured hillside, the grass

knitted to my face. Without shame

my frame penetrates the next level

which is clay, then gravel, then the water

table, the y table, and x, and z

down here where Dante imaged hell to be

I lie, undignified with freight,

saturated in a way that would be art if art

could be made of such sordid un-

enlightenment. Out of earth

so disturbed: wake up, I love you.

This poem first appeared in Hunger Mountain.