My beetle car is groovy to the calming touch.
When we ride her through thoughts-
It's all a bit too much.
They say that ride is made of blinding vehicle lust.
Craving their crashing ways, nothing is for sure,
but it does emit a strange must.
Blinking black beans roll past my craning view.
They carry with them families.
They sing with them melodies.
Their loving embrace hugs me and you.
Ashful trays unfold from the scaley sides of the doors.
My lips float between 4D-
I let nature take his course.
Jazz music beats a funky rhyme into overtime,
and we set off on tires made of turtle shell,
going blissfully, never applying force.