is there anything
as needless or
necessary as middle
aged men with grey
pony tails revving
the engines
of their harleys
at stop lights
and through
the hollow tunnels
and overpasses
they ride upon.
their beards growl,
and their eyes
hidden behind dark
glasses, are focused
somewhere up
ahead. a place they
either can't
get to or have been
once and now left.
let them roar
and rumble, tomorrow
comes too soon.
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