On a Midnight Special

These upside down limousines

Will suit her well.


The bleached walls 

Frantically spell out

A year’s time anticipation.


Throwing worship words around

Like a newspaper obituary,


Dribbling red ink 

Into a jet drain. 


A few punched numbers

-I’d say about three-


Promptly signals a nervous

Miranda warning through the lines.


Sick, sick time crawls

And scratches at the 


Linoleum feet buried inside

White tile below.


And his hand repeats

And his hand repeats.


Etches of fiber glass 

Sleep by the caution tape




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