Addictions: The Body as a Cave

The cartoon car spins along the cartoon globe.
The faster the wheels, the faster the globe.
So we go everywhere without leaving this spot.

It’s a wonderful grid.

Over the horizon,
A tree sinks into the field.
Cartoon rain scours the cartoon geology.

What we need is an eraser: this fault line,
That imperfection, this boundary moved.

I hear my cartoon body howl. Every night,
Like a cat on a fence framed by an oversized moon.
My body lets me know, over and over and over.
It must be fed. It must be fed. It must be.

I’m out of the car. 
It seems things have slipped.
The earth spins underneath me. The bumper is always
A handbreadth out of reach. Whether I want to run
Or not, my feet move. My back arches inward.
The race is close. The race is not close. It must be fed.