And I become the unleaded god,
rebuking the wind with my foot,
giving and taking life according to
the flex of my whim.
Let me be speed, I say;
I am:
air calms into my face,
unblows my mane back.
In my chariot I hear
in the pulse of pavement
the one heartbeat of the multitudes—
expectant tribes of corn—
When suddenly they part before,
like my thinnest siblings,
bangs in their eyes,
waving palms
And kneel, pious
as I ride by,
what seem to be tongues
of fire upon their heads.
And for myself I’ll have
the bloody reflection of the sun
caught on the lake so like
the side of an 18-wheeler.
mws 