$600 to fix, $100 onhand

gnarled unknown unresolved viscera
both the unreadable content I sign my name to
and the everpresent reality just outside
my sphere of competence
whether the new sound is
erratic clicking,
incessant grinding,
unresolved rattling,
or a premature shimmy,
employ the detached gnosis
while no object becomes capital needed
to fund the exploration into a chrome-bowelled abyss,
I await the messenger’s return on a plush little sofa
drinking bad waiting room coffee, and emerging
from the underworld with an estimated dollar amount,
he is explained my intention of aspiring to appreciate
the uneven keel of a traumatized rhythm.