one-story house by DB COX

rotting & rundown
sits like the corrupted
centerpiece
of a dying neighborhood

staring—
eye-like windows
front door
torn away—gaping
like an open mouth
with nothing to say

murky hallways
always half-lit
by the yellow glow
of glass pipes
where only those
in-the-know
can decode the lexicon
spray-painted along
fractured walls

low-slung autos
crawl the avenue
injecting sub-sonic
bass lines
into the twilight—
bad-ass backing track
for well-strapped gangs
banging both sides
of the block

settling old scores
over scars as cold
as a stainless steel
freezer door
at the city morgue

nightly play of d.o.a.
where no one
gets a curtain call

revolving
blue-light reflections
caught in the glass
of one-story windows
on the street
where the lost
keep house