Lucky Runner

There's a bag of bones
Inside the box
Within the crate
Atop the skid
Dropped in the van
What a beautiful van

It makes the motor pool man-jack whistle and sigh
Tall and wide like momma's hot pie
A pretty payload palanquin, tight rivet seams
So clean of hoof and straight of track
A carousel whipping round the cul-de-sac

The flanks on the van are Oxford white
The bolts of the van are torqued alright
And the mud in the thermos be the staff of life
And continents burn for its supply

But life won't pause when you're afraid
When the claws of hell got you made and weighed
And under shade can you discern
The devil from the angel and the butter from the churn

Axles, axles they spin
Precious pressures they tally
And nature-born nanoassemblers lurk the docks and alleys

In the visor of the van is a manifest
And the driver of the van's got a yellow mesh vest
And it might be me and it might be you
And the gears in our head wear a hole
In the sole of the foot we favor as we sidestep danger
With a beast in our hand that never breathes
Only buzzes and beeps
Sucking juice like blood from the USB
Five volts for the brain-bug thief of dreams
Closer than your lover
Knows about the other
Facilitates your peril
Puts chicken on your table

Luck runs out
Luck runs out

Who's looking out
Who's looking out