Each night,
some people count sheep; other
gaze out
through their windows
into the Eternal,
the Extensive,
so that they may drift off
to the battle-drum-beat,
the soundtrack to the endless countown
of burning beams of fury.
I count cars.
Red cars. Red like passion-
for every feeling from violent rage
to television-true love.
Kelly gave me a book on color theory.
Guess now its worked its way
into my head.
Next, if Im still awake,
I count white cars.
White is supposedly pure.
Seeing those cars makes me
feel safe, like maybe
the owners of those cars
really are pure or passionate and caring.
Yeah, right.
But I never count
yellow cars.
At least, not on purpose.
Sometimes I can't help but notice
how many cowards are out there.
I 'spose I compare
people to cars,
cars to people,
'cause cars make more sense to me;
I know cars.
If a car runs out of gas
it wont run; but people?
People can be empty,
run forever on nothing,
be dead
and
never
even
notice.
