Random... um.... poetry about a Demolition Derby

I've been going through old journal entries today. Here's a direct copy and paste from August 17, 2003:

The undead lurching piles of metal, growling beasts with echoing rage, beat some to a limp and then a halt. Few remain moving. Then, out of the corner of the eye, a scrap heap finds its hidden reserve supply, crowds ring out as he plants the assuming victor into the clenches of dirt where he cannot return.