just before the first hill,
on my way north,
I gun the gas and try to fly.
fuck the popo,
for better or worse
we die or live.
drove by a McDonald's on fire
first reapkeepers relaxing about
trying to put out great grease flames.
over the next hill,
bros tell me that
grimes stand flesh without blood.
last slope
has us slipping
in text message dreams.
middle line and middle name
be me and be time
for rich shine...