graffiti mind. urban sprawl.

I hear them moan
every night around two -
this dark love,
this reproachful whine,
calling all within earshot
like dismantled birds in a
jungle of disfigurement -
this loving call to all
that are near,
gathering their voices
in hymn
for retribution -
this great, surging sick
in the multitude of throats,
breaking out - singing ill
sounds, mocking the turmoil
they drink their wine and
spit on unholy ground and
thrash the bottles against
the walls that hold them in
tight like a mother with
mangled wings
these broken
these tortured
these countless
                        souls
screaming for release
graffiti minds sprawled over urban refuse,
caked in the shit and the stink
biding their time
for their time to come at last
ripping wake of grease and piss,
slick under the glass.
these broken
these tortured
these countless
                        souls
gathering their voices
in hymn
for retribution