East sat amongst the
ground level clouds
drenched in the
weeping tears
of Down Town Mothers.

A crystal door chime
sings that song
the wind sang
to me a lifetime ago.

Out of the blood
of the living
comes the strength
to stack these caskets
4 and 5 deep.

That bearded
guitar playing
Demi God
spoke the words
I longed to write.

She was of a
Northern tribe
but spoke the language
of the Devils
and drank only
Volcano fire.

Her tattoos,
calm voice,
dyed hair and
flawless brows
are what pulled
me in.

I fought off Love
and gave in to the
muse while watching
yet another
Southern Migration
pass overhead.

Apartment door locks
all threw themselves secure
as the shadows grew taller
and West wasted itself
back into the sea.