The windshield sounds the applause of a million raindrops
                       					     finding their mark
The 
                   audible 
                                  end 
                                           of 
                                                   descension

	Wipers cry like Canadian geese,
	Far off and locked in a forever cycle and
Making that pitiful honking (not like the car, no).

		Outside, that coat of rain covers the everything

	Glimmering.               Peacefully protecting the protagonist.

		And the light screams.

	A blade of green cleaves the Earth,
		Splitting 
	In perception that visual underground

	That dark wet place where worms live 
						And light dies

	Tonight the world is new,
 soft like the newborn, 
covered with the juices of giddy possibility.

And this pod
        This vehicle
        This delivery system

		It cuts through the new world

The rubber whispering it’s insistent “shh” to concrete,
	   The concrete listening with tears but no eyes or ears

And back here,

			it seems,
	
					anything is possible.


		           Reality
			    is

		          e          n                     
                      b                                  t          

The worm can imagine it, and so it is.
	
	He can be king
	But he doesn’t want to
	And that’s fine.

He would rather leave it blank,
			And choose it all.

And so up there,

let them drive, with their goal, their destination locked in place


				carefully careening
				slowly weaving

Give them at least that, because of course
	They don’t know

About the worm

About the world

How tonight it’s all new and improved

And tomorrow,

			Tomorrow,

						It’s already been used. 




						         >brian_martinez.