Sirens: howling urban coyotes
making quick trails to the wounded
and slow to the dead. 
You think the city eats you up, but really, it's just you instead
wearing the face of yesteryears
floundered in dollar store whiskey
dirty dishes, midnight tears
crying up and insisting 
that you're a boiled husk
a trail gourd filled with bad stories
And a drink to never sate
a thirst what never belonged to you
for roaring tundras and iron gates
the quiet taiga where tigers wait
bony and halfmoon tired eyes
fueled by their dealings
halfmetted feelings
tward girlfriends with pregnancy scare tactics
bouncing bullets of ambivalence
excepting mere fleshwounds
when they strike at tattooed chests
with hearts so small they only contain
A single dried out wish for death:
a quick break from the draw and kill and inane
cobblestone politics, routine honor-killings
freed by flashing vultures, red and blue
dolled up justice and walls of lead
first time you woke up
turned your head and smiled
since I'd pretended I'd met you.