1201

A thing.
A smoke bomb, a diamond.
The place clears out.
Barometrically speaking it's a fine afternoon.
My heart feels like a weather balloon.
Enormous and silver, globular. Bulbous.
I am looking at the dashboard as I drive down the riverway
In my new self. I have a minaret hat
And a tam
In the back. The theater is where I belong,
Or the zoo. If we are going to win
We must talk about class and money.
Clad in standard pillowcases.
We drive in ruts behind the lacrosse field.
The traffic lights are against us.