global positioning system

her smile's perpetual midnight
digs up the carcasses of yesteryear
rolling on e headlights bright bow-tie
the dark's tuxedo

there are ambulances prepared
in her eyelids' hangars langurous
some even clad in colorful costumes
supposedly glamorous ache to become if you want

i'm through with the rest of the fucking drama
i've got enough of my own it's a burden
the sound of each day that initial purge
a nauseous universe punctuated by papercuts