Means of Transportation.

Metaphor poem.

Thank You!

“Primal, primitive desire.”

I had a dream,
my hands behind the steering wheel
looking at the curves
of the racing track ahead.

Thoughts racing in my head,
trying to escape,
like water from a boiling kettle
dancing to the adrenaline and heat.

I know I’m asleep,
it’s part illusion, part deceit,
part a wish
and part a poison spiked with fear.

In truth,
I’m not a chauffeur,
best served cold
together with a grass mower.

Not with engine powered
metal carriage, counting mile
together with a dripping hour.
Real power.

This fact
became a blinding itch,
on the back of my brain.

It shifted places,
took a ride
around the fleshy soggy highways,
making way towards the corner of my eye.

Primal, primitive desire
to scratch the eye,
to relieve myself
from this melancholic agony.

I hit a wall,
or some barrier of a sort,
doesn’t matter anymore.

Sent me back,
to the void of nothingness,
only strings of information
flowing, tangling each other,
burning.

Now I ride with a bike,
take a cruise ship or a plane,
maybe will be lucky
for the ride,
on top of a phoenix bird,
around the familiar dreamy lake.

2 thoughts on “Means of Transportation.”

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