Chasing Eights


hands in a change can,
thoughts in a spare room vacuum.

you alluded my approach,
eating several pistachios
in the fiction of my rhyme.

your speeding to
hit my bumper
to grate some attention,
yet I have
somewhere else to be.

it's behind you,
in front of our time,
losing the 7's
and finding the nines.

all this time
chasing
some eights.