Dangerous Things

Chitin dreams are shredded under foot, and scars
with crooked knees slowly make their way down the road.

Limping, with coat collars pulled high to cover up their chins,
their lips, their delicate seeds of hope they keep balanced

upon the palm of their tongues, so they continue.

I imagine them
as bowls of darkness,
cradling fireflies in their wombs, bright pearls resting on a shadow’s nape.

The lightning floats over the black sea,
flickering in time to the rhythms making way;

several moons ago blood spewed out of a man’s head by my apartment
and painted the sidewalk, shining sleek as ice.

Chitin dreams are trodden on,
whilst the bullets grow wings, and fly.

A version of this poem first appeared on Poet’s Corner September 26th, 2016