Silent path: scheduled 48 hours and counting

I viewed the world as tricky pinhole black opening cinematography techniques,
negative exposure from a lost Kodak 110 childhood tin car.
tender beige belt strap car wrecked muscles
bronzed in glass shards; sleepless.
dying ideas of what hollow shelled friends, like Easter chocolate bunnies meant to me.

grassy embankments scuttling off busy single lane highway years speed by,
harboring partly cloudy afternoon thoughts
as bank hostages in standoff barter situations.
theses strangers at Cardwell/Wolfenbarger family reunions grow stranger;

tail lights telling us we've come to the end of a generations era,
end of a brown rifle radicalist.
life is a long tailed calico cat in a room full of rocking chairs ,
an 1840's pedal powered tooth extraction.

call me old fashioned but i'll reference the jumbo cue cards to buy some time,
buy a coke.
we're customers on hold with the automated red beep flashing
roping us down in queue
to be the next caller for the cancellation department.