MATCHLESS
Well, then, I am nearing the end, and, yes,
Matchless too was once a motorcycle. Very
British, trolling down hills with a sub-muffled
roar, doing the ton on a downsweep curve.
That means 100 miles an hour, for those who
don't know. But, mind you this, before that
last kickstart enters my brain I will fight
fiercely for things to remain : the old
fissure between mind and body, that
tramping duplicity of both light and
dark. We are made up of matter,
we are made up of nothing at all.
No comments:
Post a Comment