HIT THE BRICKS
The high moon is pale as a ruined stockbroker.
The earth is blue as chapter 11.
The sea's a flood of worthless greens.
On the day after, everything will be alright,
or everything will collapse to chaos.
Nothing will ever be usual or unusual.
The key is in the wrong ignition for a timely get-away
and the spin is this: the tires are deflated and
the emergency checklist has a forever stamp of disapproval.
The half smile is a tiny light in my right eye. In my left eye
is the tell - a tiny twitch. Call and I'll show my hand.
Which hand did you want? Both are on the wheel
but it's too late to drive far.
-- mm walker
