A poem sandwiched between two slices of pop-esque.

How'd it get so dark? 

Yeats' "He wishes for the cloths of heaven"

I had a bike.  It was red with a checked seat like a picnic basket.  It looked popular and adventurous and ready-to-ride on outings to meet friends.  I learned to ride my red bike.  But there was nowhere to go. Round and round the circle where we lived.  Where was my special friend?

sing, woman, sing. deer crash through windows. hell hounds want to play. this crappy bar? you've been here before. nothing's changed.  let's turn this basement into a club. everyone's looking for someplace to go.

www.luminouswork.org/podcast