this is my statement.
broken antennas and crumpled blunt wrappers.
eager eyes looking for validation.
half-empty bottles and growing piles of cigarette butts.
half-dazed bodies stumble out the gate blinking their eyes
and shaking their heads still in shock.
the boys in blue slap their knees and taze when necessary.
the familiar stench eyes red and glazed over while fingers
clumsily hand over their money.
the devil's hour comes and goes and still the music plays.
"Muscle! Clear the parking lot!," he growls, orbs growing heavy
as the chemicals lose hold and another night fades into morning.
