Walk the wire, let’s talk about life

how razors were made for veins and Veins For Us

like a store you pass on the highway,

slipping back in time, seeing the lights

through the window on the journey home;

maybe the name is caught in your throat,

a syllable, two, three, four,

and you hack it onto the freeway

an empty road where cars once roamed, when

the tarmac was warm with rubber embrace

but that was back in dinosaur days

so pennies no longer buy love,

freeways no longer have cars or evening commute

words hanging in space, swimming between taillights

your hands spading hearts from chest

in procedure, a surgery gone wrong;

you killed a man, and sing

highways no longer have cars

but angry faces climbing out windows, pulling out guns

calling your dead name.