try this shell on for size
.you know the type.
saliva that choked with a tinge of chewed tin foil and ash
helped a boy slide a wedge of metal through his cheek,
and, as he puckered his face,
fucking the inside of his mouth,
read street signs like sun
"it's a rumor i heard," he said
extending his arm into a firearm
(and had his thumb not been slipped
inside three other fingers
even a child's gun would have formed from his fist)
"yeah, looks something like this corner"
attempts were made, a mission even,
but a tax of obscurity washed over his dirrections,
which derestricted every block of impossibility into-
"but," he added, "it's not the police anymore,"
inching his left cheek forward, more metal than skin,
"it's the feds"
and, just for a second,
the encircled A on his back imploded,
leaving creamy white sparks amid the leather
but it was only the light,
throwing a fit on his jacket.
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