Kristen de Kline - #135 Somewhere behind the clouds

I
Friday night, sweet smelling dope wafts
lazily from the crack house down the street

sirens circle our apartment, tangle with crackly
music from the squat, loud riffs of "Smoke on the Water"

light up the 'burb, turn a deeper shade of purple
bruises, love-bites lining my flesh, winding

their way up my neck like a fresh ink job
blue etched tear-drops fall   slowly

bleed me dry

somewhere
behind
the
clouds

II
At the back of our rental, another crack house
fire-bombed, tagged with random letters: P S K G

lime green graffiti break-dances along the back fence     more
sirens, we can tell the difference now between ambos and cops,

another riff, "Stairway to Heaven", three blue uniforms run past
the front door     one of them's out of sync, I can hear him

wheezing, out of breath     you ask: do you feel safe here?
what   sort   of   a   dumb   question   is   that

III
Last time we caught up

I was drowning in water
and in wine

soldiers shouted in the streets

I watched stars    fall

and convoys leave at dawn    then dusk
then dawn     again

I saw the stars, saw how they shined
for you

somewhere
behind
the
clouds