People lose some inhibition when the canopy of stars
     mock their single wide below: such beauty staring with such pity.
Paint chips at the same rate as ones sensibility,
     and a new coat is just so goddamn expensive.

Thus, one hears many things when walking this town at night:
     drunken brawls on the pothole street,
amber flicks from the potheads perch,
     cats in heat and dogs longing to lick the moon,

bugs carrying on in the grass.
     Go deep enough into the cavernous night,
deep into the carnivorous town,
     and one might meet the winos and chain smokers,

the rednecks under back porch awnings,
     the headlamp hillbillies in their weed-devoured lawns,
looking for the meth bag they dropped last Wednesday.
     Deeper still and one may hear trumpets, big bands, and lion roars,

and think Oh god, it’s the rapture. Keep going anyway,
    there’s not much to do in this town but chase circus sounds.

Tyler Lemley

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