Sonnet VIII

All functions at borderline normal,
the old heap keeps turning over
although the needle is approaching
big E. Man-killing Achilles hasn’t
caught up with the tortoise, yet,
so, meantime, I’m huffing escape
routes in the garage cell block
where I ponder gas station maps
like a kid eyeballing a centerfold.
Baby, those raging hydrocarbons
still get me off. Places to go thrill
me ways places I’ve been never did.
Superman’s got one more leap. Trees
in the distance; might cross over tonight