THE EVER-LIVING
DEMON OF SPEED
As if wanting warmth atop an iceberg of glass
or setting fires with matches eternally lit, every act
of my life has somehow presaged itself with omens
of an absolute degree - either dire forebodings or
mindless glee. I mustn't understate this elegance,
you see. Distance and nearness, the same in their
exactitudes, are never what they seem to be.
-
I race with blinding speed through a deluge of air.
No hands on any wheel, nothing between me and the
wind in my face. Glass all gone, airstream foiled.
Resistance distracting my aerodynamic toil.
DEMON OF SPEED
As if wanting warmth atop an iceberg of glass
or setting fires with matches eternally lit, every act
of my life has somehow presaged itself with omens
of an absolute degree - either dire forebodings or
mindless glee. I mustn't understate this elegance,
you see. Distance and nearness, the same in their
exactitudes, are never what they seem to be.
-
I race with blinding speed through a deluge of air.
No hands on any wheel, nothing between me and the
wind in my face. Glass all gone, airstream foiled.
Resistance distracting my aerodynamic toil.
No comments:
Post a Comment