Lonely weekday faces
Eyes cast down
Lips bitten
Fingers clenched
Curled around
Imaginary bottles
Glasses of Whiskey
Scotch, Vodka
A fifth bought at Noon
Another by Dark's
Hour of nothing
These are Men,
Women, Ghosts
That would be you
If not for fantasy
They are yr Children
Amerika, yr Children
Cast out in fist-fight
Nights & promises
Broken w/ blood &
Chromosomes
These are yr people
They are you, Amerika
They are yr Demons
They are yr dreams
They are You.

and a man
lurks stony campus alleys
three blocks over
looking for
blood & cunts of
virgin freshmen
and the streets here
will eat you at midnight
and ancient ghosts of
this old cobbled town
and of murdered madmen
in brownstone towers
scream death from
empty windows
and shadows bleed
on dark corners of
Hanover & High
and a man
lurks stony campus alleys
three blocks over
looking for his childhood
salvation