I think I must have eaten a hook, The roof of my mouth is quite sore. I am speeding alone effortlessly. There is no wind in my face I'm still submerged. Déjà vu has me gripped. I'm getting high on oxygen Gill swill, Oh what a rush. This must be what speed is like. My what an attractive fly. Déjà vu has me blooded. Now I remember, now I get it. I'm such a slow thinker. Caught again, hook, line and sinker. ©2018 Christopher Thompson Written in England 29-07-18 Rush poetry 7.45pm - 7.55pm BST.