CAPPING THE MOTORCYCLE
DEATH-HEAD
The van was in the weeds, the old style of van,
windowless, white, like a delivery. Of something.
Hopefully alive. They pulled it over, into the
marshes by the end of the bay, and - yes -
threw something out. I'm so tired of all this. A
personal sort of home-grown terror. Bikers on
parade, fighting turf wars like shits and giggles.
-
What tendencies to unbalance the land are rife with
this fair stupidity? I can name ten, but I won't. Club
names and majordomos too. Collective IQ? maybe
a hundred - and each time they kill someone else
it decreases the lot by five more. Zero can't be
far behind. Why else this game, charades on
wheels of fire. Charades on wheels of fire.
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