Of Darker Ceremonies

Dear god of armed robberies and puff-puff-pass,

a chalk outline unpeels from the street, smashes

every windshield, and leaves florid temples of crack

on porches. Burnt-black pleats of   joint-pressed lips

prophesied your return. Please accept these nickel bags

as offerings. Brick bastions of piss-stench thresholds

and boarded windows require a weekly sacrifice.

Is there a Tarot card called “The Corner,” a shrike

shown lifting a corpse from the pike of a middle finger?

Children speak to their murdered brothers with a cereal box

and construction paper cut into a Ouija’s tongue that licks

yes when asked if   liquor could polish a skull in a way

pleasing to the dead, licks no when asked for a name.