Big Mouths, Big Blocks.

poetry

They’ll drag you, too,
behind the backs of cars
right down the main drag
hooting and hollering
and as your skin scrapes
from your body and on to
the asphalted ground with
your screams buried behind
the 8-cylinder roaring, you’ll
bleed out over miles while
the ropes around your wrists
near pull your hands right off

At those speeds
nobody here
can save you

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