It’s a twisting of hands,

a thirst to indulge

the spirit of the getaway,

the radical, unradical of

wish and desire; air through

a chrome grill chews hungrily

the dark of night on tendrils

of unlighted roads.


The tires roll out a language

of hate and speed; the normal

is scrapped for expression.

Roads crisscross without stop

signs or warnings.


Demon headlights and dragon

red tails stretch until absorbed

within the vanish.


Out here there are only

green lights.


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