a couch on the freeway

when it plays, you will hear it.  the molecules that make up your body will spin.  the room will turn into a hurricane of walls around you.  there are archers with flaming arrows behind the 7-11.  the leather armchair in the front room has turned into a time machine again.  when you lay down in your bed, your body keeps catching on fire.  a black lincoln continental is selling acorns from suicide doors.  i don't trust it.  the porch light in my chest has a burned out bulb.  we are born with gravity ringing in our ears.  what can i say about the night?  your wrist tastes like flying.  your collar bone feels like silence.  the streets have filled up with gasoline.  all it would take is a single match.