Take up your drums with your suit.
Don’t let Market Street go to sleep on you.
Quick-step your Ghillie-brogues past the gum, the spit, the piss, and the pimps.
Take it up a ride, take it up a step, take it down the city –
The young reek of opium and smoke where they posture
Stiff white collars smudged with lipstick and musk
jasmine trailing off skin in accidental innocence
Walk it off like shameless poets in the split night
Walk it off Market street, bricks and cracks, a static goal
electric energy polarizing steps
like percussion waking a dead heart forward
move – move – move, past Powell into the bowels of hell
leave your eyes open and your weapons drawn
This is your siren streaking across the asphalt
into the deafness of your heart
Open, that you might hear your own musk settle on a green branch
that you might hear closure with every night bird’s song