Thou shalt not steal
a chance to breathe, this day,
a chance to exhale
all my troubles
into the ozone

and watch the carbon dioxide
meet the sun.

When the screwdrivers
go down smooth
and loose as their
loosely written rhymes,
then and only then,
is a tailgate not a cage, to me,

but a harness, somewhere
off in the Niagara. 

I'm grinning, in such a way,
that the world is bite-sized,
which only makes sense
when the buzz of clover green
is a dozen flies upon the wall.