A Sun Dog at Midnight

STREETLIGHTS like dim yellow supernovas
I make my way across the black asphalt
padding like a stray dog across the pitch stage.

The people think I'm rabid. I'm just apprehensive, a bit hostile.
Captivity does that.
There's a bravado, and when it starts out spreads like a fever.
There's a degree of invincibility, being white-hot in the cold world.

God's war drum sounds.
Absolution being brought to everyone on a silver platter.
Someone strikes first. War. We all know who dies, we all know who lives. My hands are tied. Bound like a little red book. This one doesn't have answers. Like an old Western, there's a standoff, right there on that asphalt. The cosmos holds its breath with the weight of a baby, soft and light. A quiet shot, unnoticeable, rings out.

Just like that, there's the come-down.
The stock market crashes.
The budget gets cut.
Life support is a no-go in your gurney; a shake of the head, a whisper.
You're off.