The Rush

Sliding through the morning
Rush hour dream time
When cars are soft
And lights are hard
These dead eyes
With thousand yard stares
Flutter in monoxide breeze
Thinking of bedroom exile
Sweet dinosaur blood
Coursing through metal veins
My rubber shod steed
Idles impatient on tarmac path
My control languid and rubber
Through the dawn glue
Binding memories to warmth
That dew hath but resolved.