Your
prose
your
poetry
your
silver
screen
dreams
spin
the
worlds
into
rings
the
poetics
of
structure
the
geometry
of
your
art
the
cosmology
of
self
wrought
into
gears
form
and
function
in
the
25th
hour
of
the
32nd
day
in
an
imaginary
year
Admit
that
your
children
chain
you
to
a
life
you
only
thought
you
wanted
Confess
that
when
you
say
your
spouse
is
a
rock
you
don't
mean
foundational
but
mundane
Trade
the
concept
of
cage
for
a
zip
code
your
street's
name
Let
your
birds
go
rid
yourself
of
wings
of
talons
Pluck
the
peacock
feathers
from
your
pores
guilded
things
mean
nothing
EXT.
BAKER'S
CITY -
NIGHT
Street
lights
throw
long
shadows
over
empty
sidewalks
and
dark
alleys.
An
inconspicuous
black
car
cruises
the
lonley
streets.
INT.
DENAM
CAR-
NIGHT
Clean,
lived
in
interior,
driver's
window
rolled
down.
OLDIES
MUSIC
plays
quietly
on
the
radio.
SAM
DENAM,
55,
Tough
as
nails
detective,
drives,
a
lit
cigarette
dangles
from
his
lips.
I've
only
had
se-six...
five...
nine
shots.
I
know...
you're
bad
with
girls,
I...
I
know
this.
We
all
know
this...
I'm
Richard
"Rich"
Mahoney,
I
know
everything.
That's...
why
I
know
this.
Bucky
knows
this...
D-Town
knows
this.
Brother,
we
all
know
this.
That's
why
I'm
going
to
learn
you...
what
it
takes
to
bag
the
lady.
A
lady.
Ladies.