Small Race Poem by Naveed Akram

Small car-race is bigger gust,
Letters proliferate with carrot-engine;
The monster inside gardens a hose,
A gate to the elephant desires itself.
But potatoes ingested make a good
Race for the finish, working the
Sandpaper, whining, gurgling as if.
My ship is certain, a prison will consume
Individuals unwittingly, so car-races
Dismay the ordinary crowd.
A fixation causes the school of drivers
To awaken in a sleepless night
Of continuous joy-making, bodily
Discomfort arising before a turn is
Made due to godliness.