Moonlight paintbrushing against the window
Drowning out helicopters
And firey birds of prey
Dancing in the Angelino landscape night
Timbales stomp rhythm
Echoes from disappearing alleys
Young thug disciples
80 ounces deep
Dreaming in black and blood
Hieroglyphic West Coast style of speak
Glock hyperbole
Ceiling fans lay claim
To being the only witness
To ugly
All too human
History
Perpetually unfolding
Into cold steel tragedies
Babies find their lungs
For the first and last time
Under a shotgun starry sky
Silver screen tragedies
Breathing life into crying eyes
And I see her walk
And I see her smile
In the same deep water
Underneath the same tragic moon
I see that smile
And she’s not old enough to have a child
Somehow
She finds
The strength
To smile
