Here

Here
in the alleyways, the temples, the fire escapes
the newspaper shelters, of mansions, of paradise

Her hand holds her skirt up to a pale thigh
betraying bruises and pockmarks--
so round, like that haggard stare
as desperate as the desert skies

Lain on the business brick another corpse,
embalmed in the sunlight remains--
an old army bag against cocoa skin
casts a shadow of contrast

Gravel boots and stolen steel carts
slalom through nightsticks and sirens
and the pole-supported, transplanted trees--
nurtured growth or a jungle of failure

Bedlam on a Tuesday night
and a family of strangers
between spiral attractions of colored light,
and they gather, magnetic

There
in their hideaways, the train tracks, the stairways
the monument benches, of judgment, of ignorance

Captive while we watch
In their cells they stray
and dissipate
until the appeal disappears