the crisp pneumatics

of breakbeat pistons,

legs twitching,

the beetleblack engine

a chained junebug

tortured and spread,

force-fed liquid bones

through the chromium

proboscis of BP’s

parasitic pump,

shellacked by the wrench’s

percussive pincers,

pulsing with toxicity

a gluttonous gut

of molten gears and

churning motors,

belching black as

its armor melts away,

leaving only a boiled crab

entangled in rubbery

wires, whips and restraints,

squealing from within

the plastic web,

warped and

distended, caught

in a cat’s cradle.