through park benches
that open up
tv glass with the girl
singing for cash
and taking the first
pair of panties down

past the flag
with the combo lock
and a second story
of women looking good
to move to sound to $450
a year admission

a woman comes to rest
by garbage striking
flood-tipped fingers
coat like a monkey's ball
stripping off the bandaid
for the blood
the blood that's turning
a color, letting something
more out
and the bandaid
doesn't help

man with the lead pants
and sparkler hat with a friend
(all beer arms and a false asshole)
come up and look into the blotched
face and run away, tell a cop
arrests them instead, outstanding warrants

and the moon moves
she finds another place
under the blaze of the Tower Records
frightened by lovers holding plans
and dirty phone line repairers
and idiot lawn men doing it
because it's cool
and cats by the fountain
waiting for the birds to wake

a life that speaks in cold horn
and fruit bastards making out
in their personal public
where the Klan hide for the black
night to pass
a woman knows by her knuckles
that buckle down red and
eulogize politely to pull the hair
leave an eye at every sight
unseen