Grand PriXmas, Thunderbird McQueen

The Grand Prix
is Time-Warner's
lattice crock
long-faced velvet
time-balloon

and

Steve McQueen
is a Thunderbird
bobble-head Chevy
in its airborne
garage.

If Anne McCaffrey
were eating calf-fries
nude on the back
of a lizard pegasus
synthesizer deck

my alfaromeo
cockphone's ringtone
would have a "spammer"
in the motorpool

If a Hummer bee-keeper
from Time-Warmer's
motor pool

left off
smiling

in the Winter
whose cast was impregnable light
whose angling stage
was the meow of non-cynical
audience chuckling moving
like a fluid
through a sponge
of well-fed pastry
looking only slightly
insect-military
or haploid dorsal 'flipperesque'

Steve McQueen
does not smoke
with the lingerie-ad
androids

who wears T-shirts
of the cigar-penis-harmonica

windfall
sunset