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.