15.            THUNDER CHARIOTS

Hot with thin moist
They droop their wings
As thousands whipped up horses
Leaping at a leaking jet.

Decibel your warning cry hurt
As the kettle drums flirt,
Vibrating the chairs of Sir Baker,
Trusting to save Star Raker.

Feel the stomach turn
To become a parachute
And a breath snorkels air
And a radio calls where?
Your days are numbered chariot
Space has no air.