My fingers wrapped around the wheel tight

Curling with animosity, my knuckles strain white;

Sound and fury grows as the engine sputters dead again

Stop to turn the key and fury slowly growing--

Rolling like a snowball tumbling down a fickle hill of ice,

Sharp, jagged; self-loathing without cause

It stands there and grows as ever the wheel does roll

Down and down its treacherous, deluding cliffs

Impatient swaying beyond the impartial winds,

For they know not of true hate and less of true love.

Quake in Earthly faults; shake, break the mountain

Falls its reserve much to deter the failing fall of piston and spark plug.

Again it halts and more the mountain shakes

Not to be quelled when fury roils through the land’s veins

Bringing lack of response control and unaware those

Boulders fall, rolling through the snowdrifts white and cold.

Shiver in itself, own shell burden burning with midsummer,

And yet the winds remain dispassionate, weathering

The rock with gently beating, striking blades and hands, objective cutting

That pushes the mountain as surely as the fire

That pushes my desire; a similar fiery wind that holds

One pinned to struggle, struggle till it takes on itself--

Mountain collapse like a star, imploding to shining motes and icy debris of memory;

Car burn into the burm, metal to siderail imploding to

flaming motes and airborne debris of shattered memory.

Ashes and sirens fade. Slowly. Like how an avalanche fades. Slowly. Like the apathetic wind.