There's a Bicycle in There

and a jet of blood.
behind the bad.
but before the good.
just under the Xmas lights.

in mock lockers.
find a way.
to spray paint their name.

we dig for dungeons.
and treasure.
only to be disappointed.
while we all gotta shit.

out of history.
I don't like the wind tonight.
and the brakes of the police cars.
squeal as the slow behind me.

I am not a suspect.
I make love to the Scrabble night.
weird enough the crayons.
last longer than the barks.