Back in the crooked
alleys I only see pain
bricks and races
seven guns
three chased
four chasing
three men split rank
stolen money from
a city bank
in the well of the midnight hour
our lungs heaved and run
hands on our four guns
robbers hid and multiplied
like reflections
on a screen
false corner
false colors
one man drops
like dead wings
from a dead fly
bled out on the alley
with his future bled dry
and his bones still warm
chases resumed
some shots amplified
in municiple dens
too late
too late
another good man gone
now at the docks
where the ocean lends weight
shooting across the stiff planks
the robber holds his purse
a shot lands fatal
in my partners chest
the robber sped and gone