when I'm going down the street

I've got the ghouls howling

and it's a magic evil that goes beyond words.


brown paper bags leaking vodka into the drain

and the police are lining up to lock us down.


we're walking away and blowing smoke at the guns

because nothing matters when it's

wicked out.


it's not even cold, all those embers flying in the air

give it a humidity that writhes in sex.

(aborted fetuses on the asphalt).


I'm changing to be acceptable but even the jeans

are tight enough to choke and the dust

doesn't bother my eyes because they're closing from sleep.


the bus comes two hours late and I'm happy

because I'm pretty enough to have boys watching,

grinning even with their clown makeup on.


the smoke clouds over this wicked city and we're

all locked down in the feeling of fucking something

that doesn't exist.

(better get rid of it before someone notices

that you're carrying a grudge).