The shrill thrill **** of young blood ills makes the hill
become a valley of death writhing desperately in hands
too often dragging queens through the mud
all along the botched towers leaning and glaring
without caring
Instead intent-on
restricting oxygen with crass observation
only ever offering tasteless insincere apologies as afterthought
Alone and easily overpowered
clouded crowd-sourced asphyxia overtakes
just enough breath left
for recorded tied down violations
with faint traces of ****-shaming-victim-blaming
cat calls free-for-alls
and “don’t it always seem to go
that you don’t know what you’ve
got” ‘til it’s slammed shut stolen
and swollen gutted-paved-depraved
by gentrifires stoking those immolate night advances
and god oh god is it really too much to ask
to feel safe on my own sidewalk?