i love the smell of rubber in the morning

i love the smell of rubber in the morning and
the exhausted groan of a satisfied machine

pushing with pistons its apparatus
into a mold, romancing the container

the vessel

the craft that carries the thing
into existence.

air hisses from hoses, begging its release,
its purge of the dirty

dirty canisters that smear flesh-- it is air
blasted clean by the power

of its own thrust.

they sound the alarm when the stench
and the sweat of their twisted bodies

hovers above them. they come
out of the dark, through the shaftway 

back into the part of the world 
where the sun shines,


to smoke cigarettes.