darkly laughing

like night passing grim
our little sins
peeling red
the flesh of the dead
oblong eyes
saturated

like pieces
of egg shells
white, crisp, sharp
with a touch
of my fingertips
breaking easily

flesh on flesh
softly moving
narrow walls
she stared down from
the window ledge

spying at the concrete valley
below
sidewalks
and motor cars
of steel
racing

a boy ride by
on a rickety bike
his face is dirty
he smelled of today's sweat

he shouted with glee
"the whore house is burning,
the whore house is burning."
the man with the
syphilis nose
laughing

beneath the glare
of the yellow light
empty faces waiting,
patiently
for things to happen
but don't

colors fading

shapes bending

entiende

que!