Tomorrow is gravid.

[Certain]

So I walked into my mechanic's the other day for a token oil change,
and I said — I said, "Mike, I think I've got a broken coil spring.
Can you check the suspension?"
Now I had his attention.
"What made you think you got something like that? It could start in the engine."
I said, "I don't know, Mike. Just seems to shake when I drive,
especially when I hit about 85."
"So you got a problem? Couldn't just be these fuckin' roads now?"
"Well, it happens every time I hit 85, especially when it's cold out."
Mike turns to me, shrugs his shoulders and raises his whole brow.
"So then, I gotta ask —
why the fuck don't you slow down?"

...

Broaching cataclysm, we've overcrowded the 36th chamber,
flirting with hangers ready to remove the future, loosely sutured
into the womb. I did consume more than my fair share of Soy(lent) sauce,
so why don't you pour your salt in my wounds until the boiling stops?
Recoil and drop — there's nowhere to run to, baby, nowhere to hide.
Defined by chauvinist times, original meaning: copius pride.
We're spinning heads on swivels but can't axis information,
so prime another layer of didactic insulation.
We carry cancer in our pockets, put the cancer to ears,
breathe the cancer as a toxin as we're answering our peers.
We are the champions of fear but never know what we're afraid of
until that last bump in the dark severs hope and smears our makeup.
But we've got to keep moving: This hamster wheel is spinning with force.
And we've got to keep moving: This wooden foundation is splintered and warped.
So we've got to keep moving: The yellow-brick road's been smelted for gold,
and all we've ever exposed is a series of irrelevant tomes.
(Sort of like this one?) Something like this one,
which is neither beginning nor destination.
When you clear a house for zombies, never forget to check the basement.
And when you sneer and shout and lobby and flail your fists at me,
you'd better be damn sure tomorrow's the most important day in history.