~

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
where beggars paint sidewalks
in day-glo Picassos leaking onto the curb

Cardboard memories create warmth
in perforated dreams,
paying cost for something broken

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

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 complete standstill