i. Tut Ankh Amun
all for dreams of whips and wheels
tyre-squeals and lions falling to my spear
the gear-shift that goads the horses
and the hooves that strike the hard sand
and oh that red-line sound all weight-to-ground
and Metallica blowing the speakers and
oh how the heads of Hittites and Assyrians
roll as the thunder bells
ii Phaeton
and all for dreams of golden wings and solar winds
lifting the inside wheels on a reeling bend
hot needles and beads of sweat in the crook of my arms
too close
too close
the earth is burning
my fear
is at war with the horsepower and each is magnetic
pulling against the traces and reins (trust the machine!)
(trust the machine!) I baulk at the next bend
too wide
too wide
the earth is freezing
iii Boudicca
the armour of princes
the dash before the crash
the blaring war-horns of the tribe
the headlong Gs
the rage
the urge to slam the door and murder
the leap to single combat
the steady hand
green of profound British forests
a shine as deep as a lake
and that steady
steadying hand
hot and heavy on the metal
iv “VII”
yes all for dreams of whiplashes and wheelspin
and whirling golden wings’ silent windstorm
the high battle-songs and stately hymns of triumph
yes and the spinning stars and the solidity of the sun
on the subtle turn of one little card
one touch upon the clutch
riding high
Gold trophy winner
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