Pulling out onto a shallow bend on a blind summit/not really knowing whether there is a vehicle approaching (but it would be perfectly safe if the vehicle were not speeding)/it could be that I will fail for once to repress the urge to close my eyes/throw everything up into the air and trust in the blind gods/although they want little to do with small heaps of rusting metal and would probably disown the whole affair/and then these gods (damn their impertinence) address me they assess me they appraise me/all in the blink of any eye which is of course long enough for the speeding roadster/to fail to see me (any interval is short enough for failure)/and I imagine the soundscape screaming tyres grinding brakes/a bit like Johnny Rotten’s national anthem/is that the way I shall go the oldest punk death in history/is that the way I want to go which way do I want to go/I thought I had intended to turn right across the stream of traffic (of which in fact there isn’t any)/but I seem to be going the other way/dragged in the slipstream of an immense lorry bearing the logo ‘Ultimate Removals’/logistics company address blacked out/is this a blackout what have logistics to do with logic/it may be on some such pointless question asked on (or perhaps at) a blind summit (of which there are currently so many in the world being held in Switzerland Paris Stockholm etc))/that I find myself (or lose myself) breathing my last
