Still, so still, in the city tonight,
twelve o'clock tick-tock,
when all that is good slinks away
like a beaten dog
and the black black shadows are alive
with the dead,
twisted poetry in broken English,
flesh and blood and staring faces...
So grey and despairing,
strong as steel
but collapsed inside
the crow laughs under a street light,
a voodoo smile of one who lived
and died
and still yet lives...
He makes his way home
where he can be shapeless in the dark
and paint his face in the colours of joy...
Tonight,
hell sends an angel
bearing gifts
James O'Barr
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since March 18 1999