The Sea Of Un-Tranquility.

It has been some time
since you have visitied  me in my sleep.

During our first month apart,
you would come to me in my dreams.
You never spoke.
You just lay beside me
and looked into my soul.
I would feel your hand touch mine
beneath the soft sheets
warmed by the proximity
of our connected beings.
Then you would lean towards me
your face glowing in the blue-green
of the street light outside our windows.
And just before
your lips touched mine,
I would open my eyes
and discover,
that it was all just a dream.

And then
I would spend the rest of the black night
until morning,
trying to fall back into a familiar slumber
where I could find you in my dreams;
and capture that sweet kiss.
But this was beyond
even my control.

And as the sun would break the infinite edge
of the sad purple water,
outside the window of my new environs,
I would rise
with a tear stained face,
and the lonliness of an astronaught
left behind on the surface of the moon.

And the message from Command Central
would then crackle thru...
"It is with great regret
that we must inform you,
the rescue mission has been aborted.
May God be with you."

And the wait would begin.
The pacing and counting down of days
would commence.
How long can I last?
I have ample supplies,
and I am adept
with the necessary repairs
that my lunar station might need.
But all it would take
for my world to implode
is one over torqued titanium bolt
twisting loose
under the pressure
of an unexplored universe of sad;
and the hiss of the outside coming in.

One over torqued bolt,
and time;
Time is the real enemy now.

I have things
to keep me busy
as the time passes.

But,
one over torqued bolt, and time;
Time is now my real enemy.

I caught a glimpse of you;
last night in my dreams.
You were looking in a large arched window.
You were on one side
and I on the other.
I called out your name,
banged my fists on the glass;
but you never heard me,
you never saw me.
You brushed your hair to one side,
touched your little finger
to the corner of your mouth.
You made some little adjustments,
turned,
and walked away.

And an ache of unfathomable proportions
set itself upon me in my sleep
as I watched you walk away.
I turned
to see a bolt,
in the top left hand corner
of the arched window,
that kept me from you;
twist under the pressure
of an unexplored
universe of sad.

Then came the hiss,
of the outside world about to rush in.
And it was all just a dream.

And,
I awoke,
 to the same sadness,
of the astronaught left behind,
alone on the surface of the moon,
with no resuce in sight...

on Valentine's Day.

Throttle Crack Awakening.

Tonight,
I ventured back into
the belly of the beast.
I willingly,
walked into the maelstrom.
I tempted fate.

Fifteen years ago,
I parted ways
with a club.
There was no official organization back then.
We were just a group,
a rag tag army,
of like minded gear heads and fools.
It was an unspoken
allegiance.

I had your back,
and you had mine.

We were young,
and outlaws.
We ran the Point.
Open pipes on Knuckleheads,
and headers on Galaxies.
We would meet at Mel's.
We were kids,
and all we had was time.
When the tribe gathered,
it was an event.
We were respected,
envied,
and feared.

While my roommates from college were drinking Martinis
in plush and well appointed social clubs;
I was shooting eight ball and drinking Pabst,
in a dirty and dangerous bar at the far end of the waterfront,
with thieves, rogues, bullies and fallen saints.
I had found my home.
You could loose yourself
in the blue exhaust
of a cold winters night;
and the ear shattering
strum and drang
of steel rubbing against steel,
in a futile attempt
to run farther and faster.
We were thick as thieves.

Until,
we stole from each other,
and betrayed,
the trust that bound us together.

Pettiness,
ego,
and a need for comfort and love,
eventually
drove us apart.

When I walked away,
I was marked.
Black balled.
I was the walking dead.
I was shunned.

And tonight,
I walked back into
and amongst
my old friends and enemies.

They are a legitimate club now.
They have colors
and rank.
They have a waiting list
of lost souls
that want to belong.
And I must say
that the allure of the camaraderie
is tempting.

But before all the pomp
and protocol,
we were outlaws, rogues, bullies, thieves, and saints.
I could be one of them now,
but I know better.
I am,
what we were.
I don't need or want colors
on my jacket.
It would be nice to belong,
but it's all just little boy games.

The rumble and crash
of oiled iron and steel,
pulls us back and together.
But social politics
and popularity
keeps us apart.

I am a rogue,
an outlaw,
a thief,
a bully,
and a saint.

I am what they want and need,
but cannot have and lost.

Tonight,
I ventured back into the belly of the beast.
I walked into the maelstrom.
I tempted fate.
I reconnected with brothers,
and found peace.

And confirmed
that I don't,
and never did
belong.

Nature vs. Nitro

There was a time
in drag racing
when the powers that be
outlawed Nitro.

In their small vision
things had moved
to far,
to fast.

Man
and machine,
didn't need to go further.
"How fast can we go?
It's just a quarter mile.
Christ, why are these fools
willingly killing themselves
just to prove a point?"

So for a short blip on the radar,
the major players stepped aside;
and the Outlaw Drags ruled.

Lunatics and fools
pushed the limits,
of time and safety;
for willing crowds
of blood thirsty patrons.
It was
ancient Rome
revisited.

It was a terribly
beautiful time.

"Fuck you,
I'll go faster.
Catch me if you can."

And they raced.
Heads up,
match races,
and brackets.
And the truth prevailed.
Mankind wanted Nitro.
Mankind wanted speed,
damn the cost.
We wanted transmission shrapnel,
and the rain of molten rubber;
from torque flex
on the bottom end,
and tire blow outs
on the line.

And I am held
by a trans-brake,
at maximum RPM.

I need to break loose.
I want wheels to spin.
I want white smoke,
and onyx rubber shrapnel.
I want to drift sideways
under the pressure ,
of torque and acceleration.
I want a clean
jump thru the timing tree.
I want,
to be thrown back into my seat;
by heavy machinery
with a singular purpose.
I want...

And what is sadder?
Need?
or
Want?

With the exception of a few good souls,
I must confess...
If you are reading this...
Fuck you.
Lunatics and fools.
Nitro was once outlawed,
and now it's assumed
in top fuel.

We move
so fast
and so far,
and the eyes
between the time traps
grow smaller.

We desire and crave,
the burst of speed;
but forget all the hard work
that got us there.

Tonight,
I am a Ford Thunderbolt
at Englishtown.
Tomorrow,
I will be,
just be.

I would like to just stay here,
behind the Christmas tree;
counting down,
waiting for the launch.

Spinning wheels.
White smoke,
and onyx molten shrapnel.
Dump the clutch
and it all goes to shit.
You lose,
before ever getting started;
but you leave a great mess behind.
And some fool
cleans up after you.

Fear created hero's.
Nitro fueled their myth.
And Love was buying a Cherry Coke at the Snack Bar.