Hissing near my window, as if the cobra were striking
screeching audible like the bald eagle of injustice were diving
haunted cities of poverty parading delinquency like a soldiers ribbon
little brother that receives the backlash of disturbance in his home and abroad
as if a whip were cracking, the angry, grotesque whip of prejudice.  

lonely wonderer click-clacking through memories that toll the scroll
and through tears and acceptance and black holes of the mind,
to survive this circus tent that is no more a fantasy than it is just,
no more a joke than the joke itself
and only cruel cowards and ravenous robbers are laughing, pointing
sharp fingers in our faces and shrieking about revenge.