There are people out there
who think
they're the bosses of strangers;
they tell me with their eyes
that I'm not doing the job
("please submit to pre-frontal lobotomy
ASAP, or your credit's rescinded").
Look out your car window
as the suicide jaywalkers boldly cross
right into your driving path
daring you to inflict heavy metal
into their crimson death karma
as The World Turns,
spins into historic twaddle
for my radio talk show?
If you're the fifth caller I'll give you
free tickets to your lethal accident
at the intersection of
forgotten minds:
I'm waiting for a ring-tone
with a vamp in some empty blood bank,
both of us wearing your bleeding heart
on our sleeves, ok?