Racing Existential

if i had a wish
i'd wish i were
a fast moving car
so fast -a blur

i'd enter a race
with the name "Black as Sin"
with one goal in mind
and that would be to WIN

all of the fans
on their feet in the stands
cheering for me
like a huge symphony









with a cool demeaner
i'd weave and i'd swerve
while the other race cars
would slowly lose nerve

the white flag would fly
as i came passing by
a sign that would be
the final lap for me

one more to go!
so let's put on a show
for the wonderful fans in the crowd!
wait, i'm hearing a voice
but can't make that choice
to ask it to calm or be LOUD

coming around the final turn
i decide to ignore all the chatter
when to my surprise what i see with my eyes
is something most folks couldn't gather

in less than a moment the decision is made
not to slow down but keep going
the track ahead of me begins to fade
but i relentlesly press on without knowing









i've entered a hole
and imagine the size
is something not worthy a guess
the feeling is cold
too dark for the eyes
and something else, i must confess

it seems that in here there's no reason or rhyme
no sense of balance and no sense of time
where rhyming schemes and self-context
are not important and allowed to flex

this is where, and when i wrote
this little poem with attached side note:

please be kind and enjoy this story
of me as a race car, driving to glory!
i don't expect much thanks or praise
only a simple toast with glasses raised

"To the car once known as 'Black as Sin'
and the boy who made that wish
to become a race car, race and win
instead of becoming a fish."










-a guest headscape.