wind, think-bits, and traffic.
they all mesh up
and dawdle through
the goon-soaked mind.
okay.
this is a fine kind of
semi-quiet.

a motorbike, revving to explode
cuts through the noise and
commands me:
"listen to me groan.
boy
am I ever
alive."

on the bike, I can't help but suppose,
there's a person.
and I  further suppose a rush,
sweet, vicious rush
of adrenaline.
a lurching in the *****.
a landscape of streetlights and gust,
******* screaming
straight through.
out there.

maybe there's two of them?
and the wheels just spinning and spinning and spinning.
and back here my head's just spinning and spinning
and spinning,
while people are out there
tunneling through to
the edge
of death.

****.

now I gotta get up and write all this down
just so I don't feel like a mollusk.