daylight raze he's spent years mapping the tunnels that weave and unwind beneath this building's half-broken body. memorizing every curve and dark corner. i'm more interested in the unlit rooms above the dirt. a painting on one wall is a mirror that holds two faces. blonde-haired twins sneer and chant, "what do you have to say for yourself?" a question i can't answer. a bed too small for anyone grown. coffee-stained carpet kissed by what sun seeps in. a detached garage is swollen with forgotten vintage cars. i've got my eye on a dusty blue impala built three years before the model hit the market. "you're in good hands now," he says as i take the wheel. no way of knowing if he's talking to me or to the two-door convertible i'm about to drive without ever having learned how. i'll guide us back to whatever's left of the day, or die doing my best to get us there. 230309 what's it to you? who go blather from