Johnny Avocado


200 Yards

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.

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