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Hey all,
    I'm sitting here at my desk, reading this book of poetry by George Oppen.
I have a paper due on it before Turkey break.
Anyway, I came across this which I thought I would share. 
>From "Image of the Engine"
Likely as not a ruined head gasket
Spitting at every power stroke, if not a crank shaft
Bearing knocking at the roots of the thing like a pile-driver:
A machine involved with itself, a concentrated
Hot lump of a machine
Geared in the loose mechanics of the world with the valves
And the heavy frenzy of the pistons. When the thing stops,
Is stopped, with the last slow cough
In the manifold, the flywheel blundering
Against compression, stopping, finally
Stopped, compression leaking
>From the idle cylinders will one imagine
Then because he can imagine
That squeezed from the cooling steel
There hovers in that moment, wraith-like and like a plume
      of steam, an aftermath,
A still and quiet angel of knowledge and of comprehension.

Hmm.. sounds like he's frustrated with his Audi, no?
                               -Osman Parvez
                                89 200q (148K miles)
                                Siena College
                                Albany NY

p.s. surry about the non-audi content.... again.