Red Race

It had no verse
it had no rhyme
it stayed the words
and cheated time
this full-tilt mad
had it but sound
I would it were hate -
it would be less ground
on the rocking edge
of a tipping sky
and the flip it engenders
has me feeling this high
and as I lose head
in the capricious chase
falling at speed
of lightsound race,
there is a shatter
and it hails, heaven-crash,
shape-sharp cutting,
jagged, biting lash -
and scarlet-streaked,
the mind breaks:
a ravaged, ruined thing
and all it takes
is one last push
into too much,
so leaving it,
as such,
I gather remnants,
then rise and run,
knowing this heated anger
has only begun.