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Tonight was ecliptic. Happiness, like a Tahoe, Crashed and Snapped and Slid into A dusty shroud— Where it could run and still not move. Where lights shone to give starkness to the night.
The bank was steep, The mortar, my friends below me Dashing in and out of the headlights glow like Bugs to a heat lamp.
No passengers. Wait— One, walking down the road, Walking home, broken wrist and back pain. The other, a torn white stump before me.
Myself, stumbling down the bank… Myself, talking to the driver… Myself, the man on the moon, Who somehow realizes things aren’t right As the earth and its overwhelming affinity for darkness Casts a shadow on my light.
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