Cycles To Gehenna

Baseheads locally approach all spark plugs

Total disregard for a dying man's shark jump

Post-meridian pretty tungsten attracts any once-pale horse painted gunmetal black

Face masking, hard-shelled ebony propeller hat

Clubmans, gloved rakes grappling the clutch span

Tuck go the steel toe, metal gate spreading

For the dead-alive that rented parking space 37

2000 Out the weekly under "Cycles to Gehenna" gets him floating over 20 buses

Fireproof and festive

Corners like a two-tired tiger so a too-tired rider can accumulate a few excited fibers to assign

Knows no zen in the art of maintenance

Only as the orchestrated patron saint of changing lanes baby

Here is how a great escape goes when you can't take your dead friends names out your phone

Eyes and teeth, new moon on a scale that defies belief

Outside what our fundamental sciences teach, every other mighty lion asleep

Gangway - mine eyes, mine teeth

The man-ape translates glam thru the visor

Goes in water lilies

Am-scrays Giger, and man-ray

Crammed in a one-player campaign

Blinker like a hallowed bonfire over Samhain

Span where the praying hands mandate

Bars an extension of the arms

They're mutating instead of being farmed

Tonight beneath a marmalade Venus

Haunted mowers chewing every glowing yard of mud between us

Going Ford, Jag, Datsun, Corvette, Lotus

All cones you can slalom when your Zorlac's focused

Via mechanical Dartmoor Frankensteined poorly

And sanctioned by a New Yank Yorkee

Who knew that any moment he could lose it to the decoupaged suicide flooring

And still he keep his fuel tank portly, the 30 odd year old gears thank charlie

The scarf thank Mom's new hobby, kssssht! Copy

Eyes and teeth, new moon on a scale that defies belief

Outside what our fundamental sciences teach, every other mighty lion asleep

Gangway - mine eyes, mine teeth

It was less an act of hubris

More a lonely hearts club at the helm of a magic bullet

Away on a relentless bid for rarefied inertia

Rattletrap forks married to the patchy terra firma Ursa Minor getting warmer

I crowbar into the pecking order

The dreck between the whores and Betty Ford-ers

Hug a double yellow spine

Knobby rubber like a rat on a rope

Those little fuckers run on passion alone

This is the product of a D.I.Y. Inadequate home

Grabbing a cabin in the-fuck-outta-dodge

Actin' a savage in the shadows of Rome

Traffic amassed against insufferable odds

Fashioning gallows out of plastic and bone

I got the motordrome walls of death splintering under me

All-city galvanized bikes white knuckling

Bright light, tunnel kings tuck in the devil

P.S. I wrote this on a self destructing memo