Weighting The Freight

you run across some strange ones. In Calgary, I saw the sky go
lemon from inhalants released unknowingly into the atmosphere
by middle school graffiti artists. You had to give them credit.
The night said, look at me, say my name like you mean it,
and I’ll sing. The forest was blacker than that.

Morning found them of course partially eaten by wolves,
who had been especially adapted and introduced into exactly
that biosphere where the claimant had his left hand taken
at the wrist. To be plain, your honor, is my way, therefore,
let me say, my client deserves to die. Of that

no man can have doubt. A more low-down, evil scuz-ball
you won’t find. He’ll have to do.