Contemplating
Behind the wheel
Is where I contemplate
Best
When far from reach
Is a black beauty
Of eighty-eight.
Succumb do I
To the tendencies
Of unorganized
Thought
Where the trails
Of black asphalt
Compose them neatly.
And guided am I
In capturing such
Atoms of idea
Flickering
Like the flame
Where the nicotine is nursed
By sounds of Imogen Heap.
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