Driven

    Grip the wheel so tight your knuckles split the skin.  The whole damn thing shakes when you slam the pedal.  Exhaust erupts into clouds of embers and your eyes do the same.  And listen to that sound.  The rubber peals away mile by mile and grates the bare bones of the rims.  It creates a white noise muffled by the sound of the shivering engine.  The pistons slam so hard you could swear they're caged and trying to escape.  So let them throw their fit.  The gears shift and there's a momentary stall in the punishment.  When the grinding explodes into a screaming brass band again the coolant boils and you take the flames as a sign of luck.  You don't move over the pavement.  You pave the road.  Tire tracks cut stone.  For the small amounts of time your chariot touches the ground, it obliterates the world around you.  The car streams steam and screams for attention and glory.  All color moves past in a blender of light.  It begins to get difficult to steer all 600 horses when the hood combusts.  The freed fire  grows wings.  After a while the chariot lifts.  You have risen to the clouds.  Your foot drifts from the pedal.  The car sizzles in the cold wind.  And you are lifted.  You, who are Icarus, who stole the sun.