Poundpulse

While music–tangible pulsating–pumps through sealed cabin
Greased piston exhale gas, grunt with exertion.
Streetlights, lane-lines, unclothed pedestrians, blind sides.

Passengers writhe in sync like airplane populace heads in turbulence
Eyes close, music beats through veins,
Sugar-caffeine pins eyelids to eyebrows.

Plunge through heavy humid night,
Oblivious to passing yellow lights. Always turn right on red.
Slowly drive RPM needle up higher.

Some try to talk over it; it catches them like cigarette cough
Then, taking hold of their bodies and vocal cords,
Twists them in ways they would’ve never known.