If you get in that car, you will be found dead in it by this time next week—Alec Guinness speaking to James Dean, September 23, 1955
empty air space
trumpets over the wet field
the creature keeps heaving
croaking at death
its head jerking sadly
the self harm of the new electric
the medication adds another level
to the arcade
think of a chasm
filled with mist
things whirling and crying
vegetation stripping
over it all like a slam
the night bridge
girders dropping into the fog
everything shaking
halfway across
nothing ahead or behind
wait for the signal
don't change anything
wait for the signal
same as it ever was
same as it ever was—David Byrne
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