From zero to 50,

my brain revs;

If it were under the hood of car

It would summon the Y Chromosomes

in any being,

hidden away,

where no one feels

it’s reverberations’

it aches to go faster, a high speed train

that lives in the upstairs of my body,

slowed by tainted fuel and rusty brakes;

out the window,

the scenery is moon glow and life dreams,

the canvas aches for paint,

“don’t you see those of massive rolling hills?.”

No time for fixes, why are there no brushes, no paint,

I must keep going and going and going and going.