"emission" poems
A follow on poem to 'In the Sunroom (Suicide)" (1)
writ many years later...
~For MWK~
<>
A stray thought. a burring burrowing, thorny tawny:
A wish, yet to get, but vetted for each of us.
*This within, this redoubt, a contemplative oasis,
my indoor poet's nookery rookery sanctuary
each one, each is, deserves, all, one such,
a place holy filled, with lice and dirt of a life,
strained and trained for emission and transmission
of the best of the worst, and the triumphant emergent commission of
our individualized most excellent fresh best
where crumbs of apple crisp pie solidify, vanilla bean ice cream
melt offsets the oven heated warmth, and from this interactive
contrasts combative,
a poem pie reborn, newly disguised, familiar words,
yet unheard and before this very never,
went unspoken and now goes forth
svelte and unbroken
*rhymes of yore, forgot from a before, but making up the walls
of the here and now,
a sunroom to spread out the lit lights of egress and entrance,
of fire door no exits that now are chiseled closed,
lock in, lock up, and somehow, one, stills to learn from
the stilling quiet solitude.
to penetrate the prostrate kneeling grinning grief,
how to expel and spell the words
that grant
relief
visit my sunroom, though no fiction.
the sun rays *********** create the friction
of that which cannot ever be withered nor contained,
and your mouth opens wide and a poem birthed and delivered,
pastiche paste composted of truth and dreams of fiction, fine diction,
with a shrug, a smile, a satisfaction extracted extraordinary,
you garner moments of satisfaction but cloud cover returns,
and the process of sunrise exposition recommences,
and one revisits the elemental sequencing of
all the predecessor pain, but this time,
for gain, for gain,
<>
written this sabbath Saturday
12:38am EST
Sat Aug 2
2025
in the sunroom,
on Shelter Island
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:59 AM UTC
He was the epitome of a loveless boy, and he knew it. In fact, that was what kept him restlessly awake most nights, especially on this particular evening. He glanced down at the dark mess of hair that was laid across his chest and listened to the soft emission of peaceful breathing slipping from the lips of the girl whose name he did not remember. For a second, he debated on searching the dark corners of his mind in an attempt to remember it, but he soon realized he never even bothered to ask. This disappointed him for one reason - it was another question mark that he had to add to the list of names that he kept pinned to the front of his brain. At the thought of this particular list, he felt sick, as though an ounce of regret had seeped into his stomach and spread like an infection and now threatened to rise like bile. He knew he needed to keep it down, so he leaned over his bed and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the glass bottle he kept hidden in the bed springs. He sat back up and slowly unscrewed the cap, his eyes mesmerized by the amber liquid that swirled around the bottom half like a whirlpool of gold. He brought the top to his lips and tipped it back, filling his mouth with the warmth of forgetfulness and feeling as it burned his throat like fire the entire way down. It instantly washed him clean of every bad memory he had done his best to forget for the past week. Every tear that every girl had shed on their knees in front of him, begging him to love them; every cigarette that he had chain-smoked on the rooftop of his apartment building in an effort to cloud these very memories (unsuccessfully); every streetlamp that he had found solace in as he walked the streets mindlessly at three am, searching for answers that never came to him. He closed his eyes and imagined the whiskey rising inside of him until it leaked into his lungs and filled them, drowning him. He held his breath, pondering how long it would take for him to go lifeless in this position. But the sudden stop in the rise and fall of his chest caused the female lying on it to stir in her sleep, draping her arm around him and pulling him even closer. He felt sick again so he took another sip. He knew that when he looked back on this evening, he wouldn't remember it, which was becoming a classic move on his part. In fact, his life had become nothing more than disconnected nights with nameless and faceless females and fire whiskey that filled all the empty space within him. And he wasn't sure how that had come to be, but he no longer cared enough to even attempt to figure it out.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
i'm not looking for pinpointed lights
in the sky or my veins like
emission spectra of petals you leave
around my aorta
with daisy chain bracelets
whilst holding my heart like a
baby hedgehog or a shard
of glass left from broke-into car
windows our getaway driver, misery,
scattered across the pavement of your
gaze i met for five exact seconds
i remember, clean as new linen,
the geometry of your living room
seventy-six centimetres from your
glasses or the symmetry of the
bridge of your nose or the sound
of your soft exhalation.
to three decimal places i
was in love with you, then.
the rain need not spell it out in
morse for me to know that. the
sun need not rise to devour sleep;
through the ten factorial seconds of
each six-week fraction of my
life,
i dream of you.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
~ one more for patty m. ~
slept late after dancing with my devils, from,
from the wee, until a pealing pearl from the Earl of Dawn,
recovering from an intrusion~invasion~brain~regurgitation,
and it’s nearly 9am, sipping my first cuppa Hawaiian,
& woke to a repost of a ten year old wondering plea(1)
makes me think “This old thing,” poem, like a fav
frock/suit that still drapes perfectly, and yet draws the
***** admiration and drippy drawling yummy compliments,
gracefully, gratefully demurred with them three words,
& it’s 8:39am, Bruce pitching in with “Born in the USA”
recipe for a new thank u Gawd poem to make room for
a fast~break diet for an old man with a rebuilt ticker, this
very emission~transmission of a verbal politesse writ going
some where, cooked on a medium slow burner fueling dressed up seeds of heartfelt appreciation made of ancient oat grasses
birthing a poem~child of thanks to the Lawd for one more day,
opportunity, the five sense’s delivery gratitude and gratifications, and the desire to intertwine the sights, music, a crisp blue November Sky, the need to bleed brew these words into a fulfilling,
second moment mug, for the pearls and Earls
of poetic humans
10:01am
Thu Nov 2 2023
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 10:16 AM UTC
Everyone dies
Story’s always the same
I just wish I could tell it
Some new, different way
To revivify life
With a vivid description
Instead of this atmosphere’s
Toxic constriction
Malnourishment kitchen
An infant mortality
Failure to listen
To self-absorbed, carbon-based
Standard emission
Way passed overfishin’
For likes on the social de-human condition
Automaton autobahn
Trickle down neocon
For-profit prison bomb
Boomin’ like radical
Islamic martyrdom
Unemployed masses
Of back of the classes
The masking of innocent
Voices in ashes
An **** of power
And greed wretches *****
Mother Earth out to fuel
Their big engines of war
An insatiable thirst for more
Curdled blood screams
As I rot to the Corps
Of America’s Dreams
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 4:13 PM UTC
As I am absorbed
in ol' buttermilk sky,
I stand ***** whilst my bare
feet skim neighbor's roof.
I'm pulled West, up. Setting sun
fans rays. Here, I am emitted
in nebulosity.
I care not what
hankerings loosened, let go,
drift back to earth,
to rosy, lilied yard
where chain link encumbered.
Clinical conclusion drawn
in misty misconception
no longer.
Intrinsic am I as air.
Spread my molecules
in scintilla of light. Yes,
even into gray of smog,
as I must admit,
to ***** parts. These
may rain acidic intrusions
in your backyard. Too
much to assimilate?
I never asked for
what rained in mine.
No impurities
have been intended.
Still, I must emit.
My sky awaits.
Catching next cloud out.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 9:33 AM UTC
The earth’s been our playground, beautiful and vast.
A utopian world on which the human race was cast.
In the sliver of time, we’ve been an industrial culture
We’ve preyed on her resources like a ravenous vulture.
A carnivore hunting for bigger and fatter game,
All in the guise of improving and seeking for fame.
Inventors create contraptions and devices,
Never bothering to notice how much smaller the ice is.
Carbon is aplenty, spewing forth in filthy emission
Ozone suffering from man with limited vision.
Many animals hunted to extinction, and more on the way
Ecologists fight to be heard, to government's policies sway
Our waters suffer abuse and lose their purity
Advances in culture, lend earth no security
Oil and garbage circle the earth killing the wildlife off it,
Inventions and efforts to save us, offer no profit.
Efforts must be made to lower and stop pollution
All species soon will be dead without a solution.
Let’s work together and help clean mother earth.
What’s our future generations’ health really worth?
A partner we should be, and not a voracious parasite,
We are cognizant beings; we should know to do what’s right.
Love the earth, give back more than you take,
Do it now, do it fast, for our children’s sake.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 6:55 AM UTC
Santa Claus is 100% pure love
his heart does not divide
the starved and homeless man with his tin cup
from the wealthy politician in his black limousine
nor does Santa ever blame
the frightened small town girl
who paints her lips and struts unsure
down hard dark streets
Santa Claus remembers his own mother
and weeps for the lonely karma of octogenarians
diapered in wheelchairs along fluorescent hallways
abandoned by the ones they birthed
our great elf winces every time
he feels the crocodile's fearsome jaws
drag the wildebeest down
while the zebras flee
he prays relentless sailors
stop harpooning the great breaching whales
and hears the grasses scream
when bloated oilmen pound holes
in the prairie dog's kingdom
he regrets that schoolteachers lie
about what a great man Columbus was
and why the Sioux, the Apache and the Arapahoe
were incapable of evolution
he knows you don't need a bicycle helmet
to ride downtown for ice cream
knows our legal system is for sale
knows surfing is Neptune's brave ballet
Santa delights in the spiritual joy emerging
when patients see angels hovering everywhere
before doctors scream psychosis
and numb what they do not understand
with sad needles and leather restraints
his reindeer are the dreams of the spastic child
who knows he will never run
his sleigh a zero carbon emission vehicle
and his great heavy bag carries
the sweet prayers of the Jew, the Christian
the Muslim, the Buddhist, the Hindu
the Gnostic, the Wiccan and the existential humanist
on the night before Christmas
Santa dreams that all the cars and trucks disappear
and every freeway grows trees and flowers and grass
where everyone chats and meanders and strolls
and vendors sell SnoCones, apple juice and pears
because Santa Claus is just doing
the one thing he knows how to do best
on a long winter's night
to bring some light to a world
that races toward extinction
while the butterfly sleeps with the lizard
and the children still believe
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
Coagulation in the limbic system
The pineal gland commence emission
Insemination within the vision
Clouded by foreign dubbed derision
Fray the edges, fringe incision
Behold the schism, parabolic business
Subtitles for the learning minions
And it is booming like v twin pistons
Streamline slithering tunnel vision
Between the rock and hard resistance
Living the lie, we're deathly hidden
Not just fire but the end decision
Resulting is the pouring human
A sudden break elastic intrusion
The hour spawned upon confusion
Forever running through illusion
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
There was once a juxtaposition of a silent mathematician,
hand in hand with a melody called fiction.
Fighting to be free, yet fleeing from fruition.
Unure in his conditionm, he is guided by her transition.
This was never going to work.
Fiction's as ignorant as his judgement was missing.
She was vexed by his logic, and his rate of attrition.
Suddenly she see's him far from volition,
Whilst he hears something new - designing definition.
The record plays softly
Finally he understands to feel free from inquizition,
is about more than just logic. It's about his ambition
He returns from his audition
Dressed well with suspicion
Blood on his hands - the endeavour of reason.
Now filled with guilt, this once honourable statistician,
is dynamic and pretentious, it's impossible to miss him.
Because through a bad combination of radio emission,
sounds a shriek from the crowd's world's worst composition.
Feb 6, 2011
Feb 6, 2011 at 7:52 AM UTC
How unprepared I was when midnight approached me by
Emission of vivid green neon lights
From the futuristic skyscrapers to my unworldly eyes
But more imposing
A suspended meteor in the sky
Upon the decrepit city which never stood
My arrival at Midnight City, my peculiar neighborhood
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Bombard tremendous fear in my senses
Amid the resonating pantomime that cracks throughout my head
Merciless cyborgs arrive from nowhere
And threaten mankind with unthinkable weapons
Their bleak empty eyes bring dogmatic order
As my escalated fears enslave me well
Inside the mechanical serpent that darts
With endless slick demented rails
On such a twisted mind, it begins to run
Confused and addled, I have no control of this matter
Only worries dwell my mind
The arrival of this mysterious force is my greatest baffle
Does this herald the degeneration of Gaia?
What is this complex machinery that enslaves all men?
Where does this designate human posterity and fate?
What was done for an act of retribution?
Does this unprecedented apocalypse null all human solutions?
In this dark tunnel, on a decrepit couch
The dauntless train begins to screech with endless laughter
As it tears tempestuously faster and faster
Until all unearthly fluorescent lights blend together
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Eighty-six notches louder
Alternating flashes of red and green
Fourteen seconds prior
A silhouette of a white demon projects from afar
As it begins to approach us, its image ever becomes so bizarre
Add a second of suspended silence of jest
Before we scream and ensue
The fatal crash
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
The day sets sudden into summer shimmering
blind beasts patchy and lost
wander hopelessly along the tarmac trails of rubber foot caravans.
My mind races rancid thoughts forward
the winner takes all
that winter melancholy waving funeral flags at the finish line.
I'll bite down my teeth on the metal masculinity
and taste holiday nostalgia:
burning meat,
drunken rednecks,
fireworks just past dusk,
that mixture of sulfur and black powder,
fumes.
I can't keep on like this,
knees shaky from miles measured in ruby minutes.
I'll eat this city whole,
carbon emission load before my final marathon.
These teeth will shine down like symmetrical clouds in the sky
my mad mans brittle grin.
I used to wish:
for finer living in laps of luxury;
for nights wrapped in silk, sweat, shine, and infamy;
for heavens gates to open pearly white to golden streets for me.
Those days have lost their charm
beaten dreams that bellied up
and showed their starving guts.
Submitted and laid down
with their tails tucked between legs
and panting for mercy
my dreams play bottom ***** to reality's sadistic hand.
As for now;
I hope.
Hope I can hold the fire in my hand
to burn my life and this city to the ground
the pile of ashes will bare no souls return.
That silent hour,
I want to be alone and involved
in the fashion of dogs.
I'll wander off alone to the trees.
My brittle ribs showing
the silent cage of my black and tired heart.
The trees will whisper their names to me
as my spirit shakes their shining leaves in rising.
Goodbye you lion;
your angel face was as quiet as ever,
slack and pale under a harvest moon.
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
a new poem (words, words, words but another drug), bolt upright, uplight, reattach yourself to the liquid of the music,
soothe the irritation, slowdown the shaking hand,
give god or his creatures, the nocturnes and sonatas,
a chance to restore the pounding of the chest to a leveling
equanimity
to no avail, the sleep angels have fled from the
forest fires in the chest, and the helicopters must quench
with the commence of dropping clouds of wet words,
when, when will I be released from a life that has no
easements
words, words, words but another drug, a habit that gives
everything but a temporary state, every poem nothing but
another her, another lady puncture in my restless body,
another juncture, where all your choices are the way of
error
the high will last, shorter each one, but the track will exist
for all the time, a token of human foolishness, the more is
the inevitability of the ending, writ, drawn a little closer,
and comes with a hand written spongy-apology begging for
existing
in his notes, motes, dust mites of titles, single verses,
elegies, essays half written, passing thots claiming to
want to be wannabes, this appears and it's a perfect
ending
there is no security in poetry, only the unresolvable
man in his perfect certainty, never was, nevermore, n'ere will be never, and one poet walks a razor's edge, that is his three tenses struggling for mutual coexistence, one of
a calming beauty, a dark glory, a perfect closing, choosing
a final solution, a belief in relief, that simultaneously
engraves, erases, and
equates
another new poem fissures to the surface, and the palpable
is a magician's illusion, a trick, a feat of dismemberment,
an excise of a piece, a drink, a Tennessee whiskey of him,
an emission that never gains remission status, all this fakery,
a new poem (words, words, words but another drug),
excellent, worthless and self-
effacing
{|||}
3:48am-5:46am
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 5:56 AM UTC
Picked up a little spark
out the corner of my shut eyelid.
Such a weird emission in this charcoal dark.
It began a faint glow.
Slightly brighter than the black
above, beside and below.
Then the glow became a hum
of violet and gradually grew
into a blue.
That color, so serene,
became a green and its vibrations
were quite intense. Just like in the earth
out of the green, with a little help from it's blue fellow,
sprouted a most glorious shade of yellow!
I became intoxicated by this colorful spectrum,
drinking deeply of each color as if on some
florescent binge. When I had my my fill of this bouquet
out sprouted the orange and red.
They all danced in a kaleidoscopic
shuffle, shifting about like lovers
in a masquerade ball.
They would collide and waltz
twirl about each other with excellent grace
and then, in search of their original partner,
separate. Once the couples were reunited,
they took flight from my eyelids and slowly
but surely, in a most marvelous display,
everything returned to black as the colors faded away.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:04 AM UTC
To sit and spin
Our blood within.
Must travel & turn'th
For oxygen it yern'th.
So too the earth doth spin
Similarly warmed from within
It rotates around a point of union.
The generation of Helium from Hydrogen.
The sun releases its emission of light and heat
The catalyst that allowed your heart to beat.
So too the planets worship the star
Forever in view but yet too far
Although it can create
It can destroy without debate.
It shall burn until its fit to burst
And explode to what it was once first.
Stardust.
I see it everywhere
It's in your eyes and in your hair
That special way that you sit and stare.
Oh, to be part of a perfect pair.
Only such beauty could be formed from a shining star.
If only you were not so far.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 1:55 PM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "I Went Berserk Today"
I went berserk today...
They locked the cell again...
And I started to pray...
That they didn't forget my meds...
And pray...
Because my cell was filled with horrors...
And a fine **** came...
It passed through the hole in my soul...
And the fine **** was my art...
That I had made...
It smelled...
Oh oh...
Oh so good...
A truly fine ****
My meds now no longer needed...
The visions reappear...
Tomahawks...
Fly in flock...
And are dropped by the smell of ****
A fine, fine **** from Thee Fartest
Dust storms...
Stay in a rut...
Between the frail cheeks of my divine ****
And are expelled with my next fartistic emission...
I...
I stay stay on top!
Floating upon the winds of ****
*Original ('I Went Home Today...') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
After every time you say to me
It was good to see you
But you know it was more than that.
You’ve also said we have the same eyes
but we don’t see things the same.
If only my hand could craft words to be
the source of us instead of us being the
source for my words.
Using my hands to paint
the reality I want instead
of what I see. Giving life
to us instead of a life being
taken from us.
If you can’t read me
at least you can read
what I create after
you’ve touched me.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
caffeine crutch
restless midnight rush
memorize words to pinpoint precision
leaning on a coffee cup
fuel for cognitive ignition
unproductive nocturnal emission
of restless sighs
and tears from tired eyes
mesmerized
hypnotized
out of mind
passing time
dreary dreamer
2am alpha wave fighter
front line gunner
of disappointment in the making
time wasting
consciousness fading
daylight breaking
clock resetting
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
Tesla, Tesla symphony orchestra
Harmony of tech and art
Your charisma drives me crazy
You’re the car that drives me mad
Oh Tesla my love, Tesla my love
A love for a lifetime
Oh Tesla mi amor, tesla mi amor
Amor por la vida
No more spark plugs to replace
No more oil to change and waste
No more gas to buy and burn
No transmission tricks to learn
San Francisco to LA
We’ll blast our playlist all the way
For three hundred eighty miles
In romantic mode we’ll stay
Oh Tesla my love, Tesla my love
A love for a lifetime
When I saw you it was not a love at first site
I couldn't believe that beauty and intelligence
Could co-exist so peacefully
Oh Tesla my love, Tesla my love
A love for a lifetime
Oh Tesla mi amor, Tesla mi amor
Amor por la vida
No more power steering leak
No more engine there to tweak
No more opening the hood
No emission test for good
To the moon TSLA
Autopilot all the way
For a quarter million miles
In romantic mode we’ll stay
Oh Tesla mi amor, Tesla mi amor
Amor por la vida
Tesla, Tesla symphony orchestra
Harmony of tech and art
Your charisma drives me crazy
You’re the car that drives me mad
Oh Tesla my love, Tesla my love
A love for a lifetime...
Jul 21, 2022
Jul 21, 2022 at 4:04 AM UTC
I'm the *** gas blaster master
Spreading ***** matter like a natural disaster
Silent like a ninja leaving you no escape
This thick invisible cloud rolls across your face
Take a deep breath for a wif and a taste
Don't procrastinate or let this opportunity go to waste
Critic's say my rhyme sounds like ****
It's more like the precursor to the porcelain brown-eyed split
Rising up with the release of ****** heat
As it cools and falls back like a secondary treat
Your hand waves like a fan totally disgusted
Not considering the beneficial repercussions
Super charged positive bacteria increasing the diversity of your bio gut eco system
Scientifically proven to increase your mental health and overall physical condition
Think of it as a pharmaceutical emission
Relax and release the funk with a smile
No need to set yourself on a moral trial
Remember you are sharing little bits of me
Making the world a healthier place to be.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 8:18 AM UTC
I would have no universe without you
drawing me tight
in centrifugal embrace
Without your vows of devoted attraction
I would be flung ~ unsung
into black groans of space
But for the quest of your pulsing heart
I would expire ~ diminished
void of light
You chose to dance with my imperfections
my frenzy ~ in submission
spiraling in delight
In passionate embryonic fusion
you held me ~ a spec begotten
my inner darkness ~ forever forgotten
gv. 1.2015
(Spect. A single photon emission)
Music: Speck Of Dust by Fellows
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 8:50 AM UTC
People keep dying
Every century, year and this second
Be it be outbreak, poor healthcare or war
Lives are lost,
People keep suffering
History is filled with pages of red
Injustice alike, discrimination
Torture and slavery
Our contribution to the future,
It is quite the same
Along with carbon emission
and other deadly things
Humanity brings humanity down
It is a fun ride without the fun
Oct 16, 2022
Oct 16, 2022 at 1:57 PM UTC
My car is up for sale
It's parked outside the flat
The last prospective buyer said" What a pile of tat !!"
I know it's no ferrari
And in a race it's always beat
I had to fend off scrapmen !!
When i parked it down the street
It's not really all that bad
Once you clean off all the dust
It's true it needs a re-spray
To cover up the the rust
I admit i had an accident
And it hasn't any lights
But the fanbelt is pretty new
Made from a pair of tights !
It failed the emission test
The M.O.T man said " it's scrap !!"
And when he turned the steering wheel
It fell off in his lap !
To call my car a ' nail'
Doesn't seem quite fair
I prefer the term ' quite eye catching'
Because people stop and stare !
So if you think your'e interested
Give me a call and view today !
I can put it in some carrier bags
For you to take away !
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 3:06 PM UTC
It's time,
Oh,
It's time,
Gotta make our decision.
Your crime,
Oh,
Your crime,
Is worshiping politicians.
In my mind,
On my mind,
You found yourself a new religion.
Turned 'round,
Rollin' down,
Leaking a poisonous emission;
*********
Broken man,
You got yourself a new religion.
You hold,
Oh,
You hold yourself a worthless bein',
But it's cold,
Oh,
It's cold,
This third degree that you're receivin'...
This time,
This grand ol' time,
You found yourself a new religion.
In your mind,
On your mind,
You put your faith in flawed men.
But you're fine,
You are fine;
You got yourself a new religion.
Aug 6, 2010
Aug 6, 2010 at 1:55 PM UTC
What's the smallest living being on earth?
a graduate of music school
First class degree won with some leeway
but that can't pay for my MOT, no way
four hundred and thirty seven quid and 26p to pay
for new suspension ball joints and wishbone, wiper blades and an emission test pass grade
and now my car has scraped a "pass with defects"
I hope someone made a wish as the old bone cracked
as they took it to the tip with the entire contents of my bank account
I wish I was back home again, scared to answer the phone again
but now every phone call I'm praying for a gig.
For nine grand a year I wonder how well she would do in the next few tests
if she'd have a long career ahead after a short rest or if she would still be run into the ground,
one day kicking the bucket at 90 miles an hour on the M4 back to Cardiff; I recently found
she won't quite make it to one hundred.
One hundred miles an hour!
Such power, so close, but no cigars for me any more - I can't even afford to smoke rollies.
When I'm seventy I'll start again
whether I want to or not, I need that one lifetime guarantee.
If I make it to seventy.
Hopefully boredom, rejection and ************ aren't causes of early mortality.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:54 AM UTC