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saved from death before/after riding through the lustrous yet dreary hazey draze days around town, lustrous in its mighty cold, snow piled up like icebergs, around parking lot edges, hazey draze dayz laze lays on the areee a the temperature zips up to forty and the industrial pollution gets freed up into space and I'm driving down solid suburban street kids walking in cold with false bravado! kid, get out of the cold, we know its not warm not warm out here, maybe not warm in there, in a back lit, back woods town of hidden stories, like a credenza of many drawers that some grandma's still have, never find all the hidden, didden spaces fritter knick knack filled with stories maybe they beat them at home, maybe they fuck their children, maybe the kids sit around and abuse themselves, I don't know well, mostly, I don't as I move to my own rythym a mulleted man, straight out of the eighties I mean the nine teen eightees saunters across the road, eyes fixed on the distance trying to win a contest of cool he lost by stepping out of the doorway not even being sincere, not even to himself, black pleather jacket and white topped, mountain top, hither to unknown high topped shoes. I stared at him as he walked across busy streetway wondering if I knew something he didn't or he knew but wouldn't say another scared soul trying to be brave in falsehood of strength is not brave at all.
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