The sky is a stray bullet
and the buses are late

night in broad daylight
a witness
an accomplice
about to stand trial
or slaughtered,
whichever comes first,
whoever gets their hands
on whom first

eight-legged non sequiturs
and ad hominems
with fangs
spill out of the open
mouths of mourning

emotions a dime a dozen

weather beaten vigilance
pauses at the shrine
of rebirth:

fierceness
bruised magnolia
violent wind choking
on cuss words
and the body count that
restarts each weekend

it’s getting warmer again
in Chicago, drawing out
the taste for blood
Pied Piper with
concealed carry and
trigger finger itch
stretching the meaning
of the word
brother
until it snaps

it makes the sound of
deep fried chicken bones
and gravestones

mementos
dance with pieces of trash
from the blissful haunts
along 79th and down
the blocks of Chatham
and Auburn Gresham
and get stranded in some