No Groove to Run W (ith)

She’d routinely dress in a rubber maid’s outfit.

The surrounding conditions made it impossible to discontinue our abuse

Our view was a psychedelic, kaleidoscopic Nebula of color.

We swam in midnight water where killers came to breed.

We played our songs in the same spirit, hydroplaning across the

emotional stage, our lackluster presentation of control.

The granddaddy of darkness chased, and on the verge of a

red canyon, barking dogs, silent children, forged understanding.

It was a standoff in an old western town, lounging lizards

were Indian gods. A howl escaped me and you scowled at my soul.

Do you mastermind the final blowoff? What was going on here?

Despite the elation of reunion, there was no groove to run w