PHILTER

6 1 R P H I L T E R C A K I W I L K I N S O N A nip won’t do – I want a scud in one fell swoop from tongue to blood; I want combustion, torque resynced with quicker kick; I want the flood. I want the hymns a rut unstrums, the muddy hum the want becomes, and lickerish viscosity. It’s freezing here. Deliver me, this rusted engine, rotors inked with grease, whatever stroke or part it takes to run a pre-owned heart. ...