MY UNCLE HAS
A COUNTRY PLACE
NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT
HE SAYS
IT USED TO BE A FARM
BEFORE THE MOTOR LAW
AND ON SUNDAYS
I ELUDE THE EYES
AND HOP
THE TURBINE FREIGHT
TO FAR OUTSIDE
THE WIRE
WHERE MY WHITE-HAIRED
UNCLE WAITS
JUMP TO THE GROUND
AS THE TURBO SLOWS
TO CROSS
THE BORDERLINE
RUN LIKE THE WIND
AS EXCITEMENT SHIVERS
UP AND DOWN MY SPINE
DOWN IN HIS BARN
MY UNCLE
PRESERVED FOR ME
AN OLD MACHINE
FOR FIFTY-ODD YEARS
TO KEEP IT AS NEW
HAS BEEN HIS
DEAREST DREAM
I STRIP AWAY
THE OLD DEBRIS
THAT HIDES
THE SHINING CAR
A BRILLIANT
RED BARCHETTA
FROM A BETTER
VANISHED TIME
WE'LL FIRE UP
THE WILLING ENGINE
RESPONDING
WITH A ROAR
TIRES SPITTING GRAVEL
I COMMIT
MY WEEKLY CRIME
WIND IN MY HAIR
SHIFTING AND DRIFTING
MECHANICAL MUSIC
ADRENALINE SURGE
WELL-WEATHERED
LEATHER
HOT METAL AND OIL
THE SCENTED
COUNTRY AIR
SUNLIGHT ON CHROME
THE BLUR
OF THE LANDSCAPE
EVERY NERVE AWARE
SUDDENLY AHEAD OF ME
ACROSS
THE MOUNTAINSIDE
A GLEAMING
ALLOY AIRCAR
SHOOTS TOWARDS ME
TWO LANES WIDE
I SPIN AROUND
WITH SHRIEKING TIRES
TO RUN THE DEADLY RACE
GO SCREAMING
THROUGH THE VALLEY
AS ANOTHER
JOINS THE CHASE
DRIVE LIKE THE WIND
STRAINING THE LIMITS
OF MACHINE AND MAN
LAUGHING OUT LOUD
WITH FEAR AND
HOPE I'VE GOT
A DESPERATE PLAN
AT THE ONE-LANE BRIDGE
I LEAVE THE GIANT
STRANDED
AT THE RIVERSIDE
RACE BACK TO THE FARM
TO DREAM WITH
MY UNCLE
AT THE FIRESIDE