The Runway
THE RUNWAY
A sea of cars
Riding on my back
Abroad, intensified with speedy tires
Lubricant, passengers of thought
Bolded signs of ‘U’ turn
Too shabby to understand
On a straight road with
No roundabout
Only then, stirring to the wheels
Into a burning bush of no flames
Dumped in the garage of animal homes
Eat me up, if that will help
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