in the ghost car city i am driving through a river of greying milk. the snow is not snow at all but a colony of perfect spiders. the park lots stretch far & wide like pastures. i feed my car handfuls of lockets. she purs & whirls & sputters. i met a demon underneath the bridge & he told me if i grind my bones into dust & feed the birds i will be someday a god. i did as he said over over again. the birds feasted. take what you can get or at least that's what my father always said. a neon sign says, "24/7" & i say, "so am i." a ghost car pulls up & honks asking for me to climb aboard. i have something to live for or at least that's what i tell my bank account in the depth of night when i check to make sure i am still alive. a pipe breaks & the basement is converted into an aquarium. my rent goes up because now we get the pleasure of looking at sharks. the ghost cars dance with one another. circles & the brightest headlights. of course i want to be taken. extracted from my life like a blue potato. instead the potential danger keeps me rooted. i ask one car, "would you have my home by midnight?" the car laughs & the crows laugh & the city laughs. there is no midnight. not for us.