POEM (048) Control

Control

Lets sing a song before it’s long gone,
lost in the sense of this turning,
churning out, spiralling from control.

Grip the whip, lashed onto the reigns,
pull the cord, pearl in your palm,
it’s mine, it’s there to embalm.

Lets dance the steps before songs die,
cut in silence from these eyes,
clutch the brake from hidden lies.

I’ll push your starting button,
rev your engine into sixth gear,
look, gaze, glance, it’s mine to leer.

Lets cut straight through the chase,
I’ll take the pole, the first, the gain,
forced under to rip what’s mine.