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A fascist in a motorcar...

Motorway Ghost

9949037b676f84f0e13774888cbcd136by Dee Sunshine29 Oct 2019

Monosynthesis, this raw jazz in sherbet fizzed arteries
Of motorway madness and inarticulated, sublimated rage,
This flesh pulped in God’s hands, the saviour surgeon
Who makes and unmakes us in his own image,
These prayers of the dying in copperplate arabesques,
Fingers throttling the wheel, knuckles blanched,
Kilometres blurred in the rushing of seconds,
Jaw clenched, tongue dry: ich bin, ich bin,
Ich bin uber alles, a swastika tattoo
Where the heart used to be, a gold plate tie pin
Pinning back black tie to daz white shirt.
These prayers of the dead, embossed gothic initials
Tasteful coppertone, black leather Armani briefcase,
Celluloid images Rorschach strobed on retina
Steroid stimulants insidiously corroding cavernous tracks
Through marshmallow concrete into the depths of cerebellum,
Ich bin, ich bin nichts, a swastika catherine wheel
In the sluice ducts of the sacral chakra,
Gas pedal crushed to floor, adrenaline flooding
Carburettor compressing explosions of thin black blood,
The porn mag in the briefcase bulging
Air brushed tits and gloss cunt passively waiting,
Tarmacadam sweeping by in rainwet streak,
God’s semen fertilising the sleeping earth,
Ich bin, ich bin alles, tomorrow belongs to whom?
L.C.D. blinks on and off, a bland heartbeat,
Time passing between service stations and junctions,
Cutting up some withered old prick hogging the fast lane,
Raging with the raw jazz blood thumping amphetamine,
Tongue desert dry, swallowing motorway dust,
Adam’s apple pumping like a sheared piston,
Paradise forgotten, the fruit rotten and maggot ridden,
Speeding on, into the grey wet sunset,
From city to city
And coast to coast,
A zeitgeist refugee,
A formless, unholy ghost.