An unserious drift can't be caught; on wet streets, lamplight flies back into driven, faulty faces. Strain nights colander your luck leaving noodley, steamed water to scald your hands. Direct paths once tipped calm fingers, typed into soggy garden beds. Now, shoots are shot with dead lacerations. Amateur unpaid glinter, your eyes made possibility music until the chairs were sold from under your inactive ass. Who is to judge these marks until the new forensic speech-takers glide meaning into every near miss.