Courage is lost between broken
street lamps. The glass bleeds,
staining the pavement.
Step once, stop twice.
The crunch is transparent
either way.
A box of matches, crumpled,
torn, there is no striker.
Discarded. Sand paper just won’t do.
Not here.
Not there.
Not never.
If only a candle,
could handle the cold.
It can’t.
Flames aren’t transparent.
Blindness is not a disability.
Rigid letters.
Brick.
Sharp words.
Three crunches.
Two sets of footsteps.
One laceration.
There is a paper on the newsstand,
photographs obscured by accidental
coffee stains. Best be careful out there.
Capes are nooses, gadgets
malfunction, and the other people
in masks are dangerous.