Ratted running squeal through the ear split head,
Hot wind burning through the shell
For the cool of drink, the heat of tar is red
On eye and dark to the edge of rim, of smell.
Screaming cars, glinting whispers of a week
With furring spins and distant grins, that simply see
The slowly start, and faster weave and angry sleek,
To turn and grind on steel let free.
Go curse the swine who hides “our” line
No, hear the whine who steals my course
To leave the break, that should be mine and
Kick the floor and damn to punch for force
To swim behind and lose my feel
Dont turn the wheel to break the seal
Of tyre and stone to slide with speak and call
To break the shell upon the wall.