bullet of sunlight pierces the clouds; golden heaven touches ground
I see that childhood toy that hangs above the crib and spins around
Except it is suspended from a(?) golden yellow sky
With paper mache animals and gargoyles hoisted from it
The golden Porsche makes its way up a Great Plains highway
Glaring sunlight from its grill
We never get a glimpse but there is the suspense
Of being hunted by a freak