The driver wears a clock
with a hat
and it tips in favor to the newest customers
twice a day.
It drives a bright orange cab
delivering backseat baptisms
to the patients walking across the flat-top abyss at night.

I see the cab roll up beside me
and its only one step to get in but, flights of stairs are truly there.
Judas with three hands invites me forward to sit down
but, he starts shouting in tongues and all I hear is something
about shoebox pupils.

The weather in the cab isn’t inviting,
it believes in me though
and hands me a paper bag to ***** the obnoxious ticks
away, leaving an empty stomach for fair elements.

I hear my stomach quote: “I am the egg,
a sack of an embryo
of culture and ******,
chairs open doors for me.

You are the prized treasure
of the spider’s remain bag.
Bleaching light is afraid
of you.”

The driver then says with solid breath,
“Jukebox oven needs only one more
piece of our lives.
It promises with frigid fingers and leftover voices
that swamps will always run under us.
So we do as conscience demands, we pay the fare
and believe that is fair.