Ghetto Moon

The ghetto was falling apart.
Houses spilled drunken children
all over the streets.

We sat high above the moldy roofs
on carriages of stone, scraping
the brown sky. Your vodka nearly touched
the moon, as if we’d blame the moon.
Our horse
was slow motion.

We saw streets like grid paper.
Only the users and dealers were safe
in basement livingrooms.

I couldn’t hear the cement
so I fell.
You watched in awe
at my twisting limbs and mouth silent
under the sirens.
Vodka sparkled on your tongue
in the moonlight.

Ghetto Moon

Shawn McDaniel

Auburn Hills, United States

  • Artwork Comments 3

Artwork Comments

  • Michael Douglass
  • Shawn McDaniel
  • anaisnais
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