October highbeams into the
future. His chassis joins the chase. There is one right of way, his way. Signs
are made to ignore. Pedestrians witness burns in bitumen. The future is
arabesques of oil. They fume invisibly skywards. It will thus expire. No one stops
his world record. Windows black out plant life. There’s a top speed? Noise will
be noise. Can Ocker hear the slowdown meme in his head? Will he notice the
fast-approaching corner and not career straight into that lamppost? He was
built to blast. It’s him and the road, taking us with him. The highbeam ups.
No comments:
Post a Comment