the mood wrapped around us like a tropical storm
the street grabbed the rain to shush us
but the car kept screaming,"Lawyers, guns and money"
and somewhere in the contradiction
was a low
slow
yearning to be a part of the pieces we've denied
and in the last private moment we had
before the telephone pole
it was glory and rapture
as we captured the pieces in smiles
and cigarettes
and bottle shots with sing along gargling
even as the glass shattered
and the steel buckled and popped
we were finally so free