These legs twitch incessantly.
Itching for a chance to move,
Waiting, swaying metronomes.
Leaping for a time to swing.
Hot music fuels their demons.
Stepping and dancing feeds them.
Propulsion suppresses them.
Bipeds gripped onto pedals.
Quads pray, strained for salvation.
Calves flagellate. Holy Mother!
Tenacity turns the wheels.
But, demons don't die easy;
They hold leased titles elsewhere.
Prime land for development.
Again their song is heard throughout.
Skilled operators of hands.
Vocal chord reins tame the tongue.
Now, the nights are theirs once more.