Smashed brown beer-bottle pulverized glass,
tiger-eyes burning bright on black asphalt in the night.
Beside an ice cream cone
that won’t be there tomorrow,
eaten by the nocturnals
whose eyes follow us at night.
We can hear their whispering if we stop, stand still and listen.
Yet unseen, our brethren, our darkest thoughts,
beings we’ll not recognize neither can exterminate,
because they are our scabby tail.