To get back in the game, I need one good hit. A horse with early lick; that has more heart than Joe Louis and Jake LaMotta combined. I need decent odds, at least 8-1. The racing gods have to smile on me one more time. At least for 6 furlongs, and then baby, I'm back in the game.
Faltering plans An indecisive mind, Consistency in itself is an art An explosive start! Followed by; Fumbling fingers and idiotic ideas. What next? Do we pitstop like Hamilton? We were in pole position. Reassert, focus and keep on track. We are the drivers of our own Destiny...
I've been trying to keep up one poem a day. It's tough. I'm sure other writers can relate. This poem is about trying to keep that target going. A Formula 1 racing theme was completely unintentional and off the cuff, but seemed to work nicely. So it stayed and I kinda like the end result. I hope you do too.
Racing thoughts do me no good Why they wait for when I lay I never understood, Darkened hours when all I want Is to drift in skies with unfocused eyes From twisted hells to jubilant highs All forgot, the following day
drifting musings I had more ideas but brevity suites this
I hate you and your new car. I hope every time you go to the gas station, it's three dollars per gallon. I hope you make so many enemies that there's a line to sugar your gas tank, I hope your engine knocks and your head gasket blows and your timing belt snaps and your rims warp and your tires pop every time you pass my street. I could still beat you in a race, even with your ugly sport package and plasti-dipped grill, I could still beat you in a race because I am angrier than you. I am angrier than you, and I always will be. I hate you, And I hate your new car.
this is the censored one because they don't like me