Biker’s song: Nameless Pleasure 1
I love
the
wind’s roar in my ears,
the
sting of its lash on my face,
as I
hurtle down the highway.
From
the tiny bits of rubber,
that
grab and scrabble
with the tarmac and win,
the
flickering needle on the tachometer,
the
inanimate hunk of throbbing metal,
and
me,
I am
one.
The
exhausts beat a transient tattoo
on
the walls of silence.
A
whiff of scorched rubber,
a thinning trail of smoke,
Proclaim,
even though for a moment,
I was
here.
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