Listen to poem:
The Drive
We slash the miles
Like a blade-bent
On homicide.
As the tar serpent
Rises readying its hood
In heated passion
Sashaying in its midday heat
Playing water mirages
Of dark shimmers
As we sink in its glistening
Endless asphalt river
While the waft of heated rubber
Rises and rises...
Until we are no more
No longer living
In the everyday regulated regular miles.
We are stars
As this rocket-ship transverses
Potholes of ash to a distant far
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