The
ladies sit in circles while the serpent's in the grass;
cans of flat, warm soda rest on tabletops of glass.
Cushions on cast iron seats comfort a
flabby ass;
the stealthy
serpent slides, two vials, biotoxic mass.
The suits sit in their circles while the mobs pillage the streets;
the ink dries on the contract, fit to tight corporate needs.
Armed guards in marble hallways hear the doors giving in;
a shot falls, a child bleeds, the mob punishes the sin.
The homeless sit in circles while the poet reads aloud;
the moon dreads the common scene and hides behind a cloud.
(neon lights, ether, cough syrup, blankets, lice,
redwood, bagles, coffee on ice)