Logging

Pollock ice formations
Smeared by cold wipers
Have let the windshield
Decide my fate.

It’ll be the track today,
Turn after turn,
Lap after lap,
A cold and lonely run inside.

But I’ll be warm
Listening to some tunes
Sweating without the icey formations
Taking hold on my eyelashes.

Warm? Yes.
A little less tough? Maybe.
Whatever… It’s taper time.
I’m ready.

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