I’ve long had a penchant for fast cars, and have even owned a few, though I seldom exceed the posted
Legal limit. What does this indicate about the nature of my driving? That I feel the need to speed, but lack the
Necessary courage to press the engine to the full extent of its ability? Or that I only use my car’s
Excessive horsepower as a tool to avoid potential collisions with less observant or less capable
Drivers? There is probably a metaphor for the way I live my life embedded in the
Lines of this poem, but to analyze it, I’d need to either slow down considerably or speed way up.
Praying for Eyebrowz 
All of poetry gears down to subtext, I suppose, Painted Toes.
Line by line
to pronounce and parse…
Yes, but.
I read not, the poem,
I overhear the poet
a colloquy of an unconscious conspiracy,
I suspect…
This semi-scripted eavesdrop
a listen in,
to a well routed happenstance,
hopefully
—–
Regards,
Trope Torque
Pit Stop, Mississippi
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I think; therefore, I’m overly conscious of who I am. Descartes be damned.
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