To Flee or not to flee

Reading Billy Blake
beneath spears of stars
in the forest of the night,
while bullet cases blow
down my smoking road,
a dead boy's house tied up
in yellow crime scene tape,
leaves me an undercover poet
on the run from unknown foes,
the murder weapon still warm
as my soul makes for Jerusalem.



John G.Hall(C)2004

*Last week there was a shooting on my street.