Invalid Litter Dept. - At the Drive In/Cedric Bixer-Zivalla
intravenously polite, it was the walkie-talkies that had knocked the pins down, as their shoes gripped the dirt floor, in the silhouette of dying. Yeah, they had plans for him. They had spun the last of the pimps, corduroy satin nailed jewelry lips, while the guillotine just laughed again. And the paramedics fell into the wound, like a rehired scab at a barehanded plant, an anesthetic penance beneath the hail of contraband.
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