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Our Cars are Numbered
Oh,
such seams can find decay,
In slumber deep,
cowhide chalices hold sway,
yet, this pinstriped warlord was
cut from dreams that tend to fray…
Hear: bible bound numbers flow
to land the back of heads
to stave the headlights glare,
we tiny solar flares as such,
so sensitive to touch are
placid, trance like true a year,
a sequence queue
to channel flow inertia’s demands…
Stand here now in Detroit blue,
amid the standard few,
stamped in black,
the paper’s stack,
a supplement so blue:
Your car’s been numbered,
Your car’s been numbered true…
Your car’s been numbered,
Its restless slumber dreams of God,
like you.
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