.
I drove the spike
that bent the spine,
the screaming left me
at the turnstile
without exact change
and late for the sunset

Slippery tracks added
to the conceit
while the homeless
decorate sidewalks
in spray paint Monets
leaking onto the curb

Cardboard memories
create hardships
in perforated nightmares,
paying cost for something broken
and calling it a bargain

When the conductor signals
a left turn on a straight run
creasing the
permanent press avenue

And billboards say “god is not dead”
until their contract runs out
and the labels
are peeled
for good

Still I stand here
holding the hammer,
swinging between the rafters
in this life after death
revelry

on any night
of the week
that brings each moment
to a dark conclusion