curve the tracks
the idling
the burnt outbulb
on a front porch
plants and a glider
inside the clock
ticks
in the bedroom
he rides her
his homie watchs
time on the
citizens bend
watching clouds
crawl
their way
the wend
beneath
him she cries
she moans
she sweats
and the tv
in the living
room
tells them
the worlds
coming to an
end
Skylines like
a joker
inside the
car
he inhales
a toker
smooth out
the whitecaps
the driver
will arrive
tuck in his
colors
and they
will begin
the drive

...