são paulo, truth or dare

kids on ghosted bicycles
storm past the lemon glare of Lula
and the Samsung blue tinted smile
of what's-his-face
into prosperous nights of sweet scented sugar popcorn
and lamplights long forgotten
singing
guns 'n' roses hits
to the steel raven
flapping
it's nationwide wings somewhere
in the black smog
in the darkened diners
and the taxi driver's petrol stained havens

"john carpenter was here"

a hooker's uniform
resting on a window sill
turns catlike
under the crescent nothingness of a moon
too shameful
to bare it's skin

a murder of helicopters in it's place
exuding lifelike whispers
to skyscrapers
wet with rain
still
dancing
that tired old jig
taught
by centuries of junkies
hopped up on capitalism