Oil Rig Insides

Were that I could curl against
that tipping point
an' place my breast
my sternum rent against its edge
press down where guilty muscle's spent
and worn from fighting blackened webs
That wrap around, the charred scent sweet,
my heartbeat wearing, growing bleak,
my outlook bleaker even still,
soul heavy, buoyed 'gainst the spill of
sticky oils by breathy hope,
I g(r)asp and hang by heavy rope,
but every day hope cracks and splinters
I try to fix with shaking fingers,
that which keeps my lifeblood moving,
feel it slowing, weeping bruising,
one lonely, half-trained engineer
'gainst all the weight of my veneer