THE FRICTION OF



    car parts sacked & slung around my neck

    (a joke) like skeleton keys


to be examined, slipped into


    a periodic table of combustion & horses

    dismantled diaries of drive-ins


& red lights & locked brakes


    the churning under felt-lined floors where he slipped

    his hand onto her bare knee


& once for a second a little higher


    the reaction determined by physics (not chemistry)

    lighting leaving through the toes


& the tiny surge shot through


    to tin & steel now clinking their oiled sounds

    the same as cans looped with string


to a bumper, dangling







HOLLY AMOS’s work has appeared in North American Review and Columbia Poetry Review. She recently completed her MFA at Columbia College Chicago.