2 rows of four make 8
burning dinosaurs past the throttle plate
sweating on dead cattle, hit the clutch, grab the shifter
a smooth left turn, push the pedal, it’s a drifter
Counter steer into the slide
fishtail fins blowing gravel wide
The moon looks on in apathy
She saw the children whose bodies flow free
crossed bones swing from the mirror
Objects aren’t fast enough to look nearer
hit the clutch and slam the steel
The faster I go, the smoother I feel
The world seems a better place when it’s a blur
The beast levels out and growls out a purr
chasing the night onto concrete
The rattle of the gravel no longer shakes the feet
Slide the gears up into 5
crank up RPMs and no overdrive
The moon hides her face behind cloudy veils
She can see tonight is the last on these wheels