12h
there are ghosts
on the roof again
they whisper
through leaking vents
and broken antennas
perfumed rot
and cheap whiskey
spill from the sink
the strays sing elegies
to the moonlight
that never comes
TV static hums
like a low prayer
in a godless chapel
we scratch
our names
on telephone poles
like saints
begging to be believed
in alleyways
children paint murals
of uncanny valleys
fables
wear labels
and reach
for Abel’s throat
every lie
is someone’s faith
even the stars
have turned
to watch
but you don’t
need eyes
to read the ruin
