I now slow down
my steps when
I walk by
these police stations
only so to get a chance
to peer into the wreckage
that's left of cars
pulled from accidents.

I have learned to admire
the destructive art of impacts
sending massive cars
into shriveled balls
of crushed iron

this art that sends
massive cars into death
traps, death cans,
death containers, death,
death, death, written
everywhere.

I slow down my steps
to stare at deflated
bags that hang from
the dashboards,
dotted with blood
and, maybe, tears.

to stare at the airbags;
blood-stained airbags
that are meant to save
our lives but the
only things they
really do save now

are stories, stories
plotted on the dreams
that got crushed in the
wreck, the limbs, the lives-
empty blood-stained airbags
modeling all the emptiness in
our own worlds- what they save
now, these bloodstained airbags

are little marks of death,
and man's vulnerability
the little marks of blood,
little marks, little maps,
that lead to towns and
cities where all the
weakness of man
is not only recognized,

but I also,
understand,
appreciate,
embrace.

these days,
I understand,
appreciate,
embrace.

TheSCRYPT:

My boss is back

Scrypt, haha. Been like a hundred years.