Sunday, May 22, 2011

Across a little valley from the house
runs the winding mountain highway,
a blacktop siren song for engine jockeys.
The crotch-rocket corners with a growl,
accelerates into the straight with a rising 
whine and dopplers past -
too fast - 
I know the road, 
I know the adrenalized state of mind
inside the helmet. 
“Go carefully!” I telepath, 
“Don’t you know -
you are precious in this world?”

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