Poison night

So much sin,
one city,
just polluted with light,
that overwhelms thoughts
confuses inhibition
like a young child, lost.
Escape through doors,
break free from smoke,
and people thick,
into warm night air.
Thoughts of you
infect me though,
so I walk slow
to pass time
and to control wobble maybe
as two o'clock lights
explode RED
bright, shine down
on black man menacing
slow straggle like me,
but going the other way,
hands in pockets,
scruffy beard
spray painted speckled gray
comes in close,
leeaaning toward me as we
pass each other,
"Yee-yoo...", low
eyes wide at offer
and behind him come more
devilish demons attack
"Yo man, I got the yee-yoo..."
Can't breath in this places
poison mood,
posions air
steals soul,
the anadote is you...
But,
you're out there
in bright crowded,
lonely night
and I just want to find you
in that club,
probably at corner table,
drink in hand
your loud sexiness drowns
friends laughter,
but silent in the way you stand,
the way you walk,
that way you look when
you want to
eyes soft, mouth broke open
you know what I mean
it's absolutely undeniable,
when you get that way
I've always secretly loved it
turns me on like nothing else,
want it like a drug,
could sit across the room
you unknowing
watch it come to life
and make mens minds
sick sin for what they
want to do to you in dark,
when really,
it's just too much,
they don't know what to do with it
but I always did, always will,
'cause I'm the one,
eventhough fragile, shy and seemingly
insecure...
Music makes walls vibrate
crowds move in sea of
strangers,
but worlds slow,
stop even,
near you...
But, I'm not there
and it hurts,
just want to see that face right now
instead,
sit on street corner
alone
with millions of colors
lighting poisoned faces,
stolen souls,
floating through
the sick air night
of sin city...

The curfew in the Ghetto is twelve...

Did you know the curfew
in the ghetto is twelve...
Black girls,
three of them,
under midnight street light
voices in loud, jubilant laughter,
one on a bike
circa 91,
hand me down pink,
wheel in the back crooked,
rubs and squeaks,
but voices echo,
with black slang swagger,
it's a conversation about last night
and how she saw a shooting star,
and "Swoosh
it shot across the sky...
oh yeah, I seen that
before..."
and it becomes a dream,
they all agree having at some point,
and me I was hidden on the porch
in chair smoking, quiet thought
pipe smoke sweet
floating in view of them
just stopped in front of me...
hundred or so close feet away,
unaware of me there,
lost in their
quiet talk,
just each lost in their own
worlds of words,
all talking at once.
They stop, stand
looking up at the sky
"What is the sky made of?
The Bible says God made the sky in seven days
and in seven days
there's a week somehere,
so in a week he made the world
and just put light in so we could see it,
Yeah, he did..."
and so simple,
but just the truth
and a truth so puren and real,
even to children...
So that I could sit here
now, and like a piano,
I play these keys to take you there,
show you how,
maybe why
the curfew in the ghetto
is twelve...