Motorcrash

Motorcrash

0 to 60 in thirty-two
twice as slow; half as fast
ain’t no mirror sharp enough
to cut through the mast
nor the cunning of cigarettes,
to take me there in a blast
nor taste of women
nor la celery Spicy Hot V8®
—celery doesn’t belong here
(neither do I, anyway)
if you keep fucking ask:
blood and green, contrast?
—when all you see is black
everything blends unsurpassed.
nothing I can do, forcefully amassed
the weight of days were always a dread
absurdity, malignity —in vast.
in a four-valves-per-cylinder V8,
taking in the White Tree a bash
only alive in dreams blessed
after a delirious, crimson motorcrash

© 2006 Koray Akarsu

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