Bumper de Chine

I have buffered recurringcars -

Porsches in porcelian,

butteredbysun. Brakes

burning the shoes of sleep.

They come in (((crepe,) in chrome) with chronic road-less speed).

Theinventedones, I now

understand as: Things he too-late

imagined for himself:

Reclaimed in sleepthread

the un-ignited crown! They rise like

newborns, sourdough. ((Morning.))

Never like kings.

Cumulus driven,

choices dr

ape without

hubris. They gape and

open at the nape

and throttle.

They guileless

cl ing.