Rush to the shops
To the ATM with dry mouth
To the bank before the shutters lock you out
To the border that’s a fault line of our madness
To jump for gunpowder joy
To breakneck speeds on salt flats
To turn back time again and again
To make the clouds’ irreverence have meaning
To gloat at the birds
though they’re only pitying
To make tracks that sink, six feet or more
To bounce like a ball on marbled chocolate
To never come back
To chase down a long lost familiar
To not die
To let this heated breath make perfect sense
To be circuitous
To never stop not dying
Vast Imbecility 