seven minutes
the clock strikes nine, seven minutes
past the hour in the venerable
stone-work courthouse while the
thin rain falls between the street lamps.
imboredimboredimboredimboredimbored
a young kid dreamt of bright cities
fast nights, i grew up.
concrete falls crushed spiritsoulbody
expelling its last.
black metal stairs
clatter insanely upwards slamming into the
grimy brick wall.
to hell with white chickens and red
wheelbarrows a pissy-eyed broker advances
shrieking ain’t nothing depends on
nothing.
red lights dye the falling rain
a woman’s touch, a woman’s pain
and the young ones soon realize discussing
ifs after the fact seems kind of pointless.
while the penthouse pimps howl in
ecstasy the twelve year old hooker
peers through his tears at the petal
explosion in the sidewalk cracks, when
the blind child kicks over his house of
blocks which roll to a stop spelling god
before his eyes.
