Boning the Dreamers
There is bravado at night. Faith
seems safe and simple in the dark.
Look how they swagger, how they strut
the fashion of their healing like peacocks,
fan out the blues and purples
of old bruises.
Midnight, slap them down
with your big paws.
You are the mountain lion
who walks lean and hungry,
hidden on the cement hills
of New York nights. Look how
your breath is mistaken
for the wind, your growl
for gentle subway rumbles,
your stalking eyes for stars. Look
at those lonely things they call their hearts
waiting to be swallowed. Look how
they laugh at your black mask. Take
your red meat.
Go eat the darkness
and all its crazy dreams.