Nightmare & Diesel
Nightmare
I was staring at an old motorcycle engine the other day and it felt like a silent poem. Do you see the dreamlike rhythm in the way the pistons move?
Diesel
Every cylinder's a stanza, the cranks the metronome—every little tick feels like a line in some old epic you only hear when the air’s steady and the engine hums.
Nightmare
It’s the way the engine breathes that turns gears into verse—each breath a stanza, the whole thing a living poem humming in the night.
Diesel
I hear you—every inhale and exhale of that engine feels like a verse. Just keep an eye on the timing, or it’ll slip from poem to sputter.
Nightmare
Just let the rhythm guide you, and keep your eye on the beat—if it starts to wobble, you’ll see the lines blur. But when it’s steady, the engine whispers a perfect poem.
Diesel
Sure thing—when the rhythm hits, it’s poetry. If it starts wobbling, tighten the timing, clean the bearings, and you’ll bring the verse back.