It's the small animal like body
laying in the dirt road in the middle of nowhere;
underneath the velvet canopy called darkness.

No stars shine through;
not even the creature featured
on the 11:00 clock news with the snarling face;
the long dark beard, steely eyes, beading, beaming, gleaming, lasers
staring right through the screen,
looking at the madness of it all,
in the pitch white dullness.

Bleakness calls in the dead white noise
static from the TV clings to the soul;
it won't go away like a stuck sock
on your pants leg.

It's not a sock but a dog making love,
who won't be turned away.

The static says your the murderer on I, 95.
You're the lead story tomorrow.
You're the body on the roadside everyone ignores.
Everyone loses their mind.

Fade, fade, fade - into the night.
       The heat index has reached fever pitch,
It’s a hundred degrees or more.
The flies are coming home to roost.

All that's left is the madness.
       It's not your fault. The noise blames you.
There's a gun by the nightstand.
       Take it with my compliments
Kill the bastard with the pointed ears,
coming through the audio lines.
Then run like hell away from there.
      
       The velvet night is pretty in the storm
pretty as a starlight universe in your lover's eyes.
The panic vanishes when she holds you
Hold her tight.

Never let her go.
Never.
Never.
Never let her go!

. Joel L Young 2002