Wednesday, August 29, 2012

The Stiff That Dreams Ain't Made Of

There's no pulse, and my gut starts to sink
Just one punch, the mutt's gone in a blink
Though he's "late" as in "dead"
From the plate in his head,
Better dump his cold butt in the drink.

Ironic Fate puts violent cop Dana Andrews behind the eightball in Where the Sidewalk Ends (Otto Preminger, 1950). Title by dreamy Norm Knott.

No comments: