Summer is fading. Nights stretch out like a plastic film.
The air around Carl’s paint shop is cut thin
by a sweet-smelling mix of flammable ketones.
Tiny metallic flakes drift among gnats and stars
in rivers of moon light.
Inside, a bear-like man wearing a paper bunny suit
hushes paint against polished steel.
The card suits have precise meanings:
The Sword; The Spear; The Shield.
Thieves, robbers, and exploiters-- the usual suspects.
Daybreak reveals a galaxy in the paintwork. Calculated reflections,
visible from space through the telescope of some reptilian genius.
It is clear through the ether: Carl is the Ace.
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