around
junction 29
on
the
thick lost highway / Thatchers mad circle
i saw pine tops pointing to the sun
creeping
level
with
the
elevated 4 lane blacktop / Londons handcuff halo
and
i wished i was in their cool shadow
visiting on their brown needle floor
with
all the mad traffic
just a huge bee hum
above
me
and
when
we hit a crest / a gentle undulation
a soft bump rise / a home county hiccup
the
swarm
of
relentless faceless unstoppable metal
seemed weightless
crusading
and almost holy / a necessary inevitable ritual
and
i
felt
part
of it all / of the fossil madness
of the welded fashion / of the hunting thrum
on edge with mob adrenalin
oh
so
briefly
before
i looked for pine tops again
from getsurrey.co.uk
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