12 Months on 7th - 2

2

the clouds are never puffy here haze on a complete layer of flat gray
clouds lays over 7th beat the sidewalk with an old broken umbrella
black and torn they say "terror" when walking the stopped escalator it's
strife when the huge fountain is stopped it's lies when the doors are
closed and locked it's vengeance when the spotlight and booming voice
(speaker) awakes you at 5am: throw a rock and it misses no one notices
"get up and go to the Mission." intemperance when pulled into county
jail and let go at 3am to walk seven blocks altercation with the
staffing sergeant about the lost blanket the bag of cans the fear that
invites exhilaration the hardening and tension the fingers temples
battle screaming alternating "they are assholes, you are a mother
fucking scum shit face," please forget the murder the son against the
mother