Urban Chickens

Deep fried moon looms
Over the darkness
On the island
Where concrete towers stretch to scrape
away the tar from the sky,
A fool's undertaking that releases a
deceitful sliver of golden light.
That moon.
Ominous orb.
A signal.
It's time.
Saber-edge hearts
Shimmy and shove into scabbards stained by
whiskey and sweat
Strapped to endless thighs,
Trusty leather wingmen slapping the flesh
into action.
Flocking together, the hearts advance,
robotic and parched,
Into the streets,
Pumping blood as sweet as Sangria
And as easily spilled.
Free-ranging,
Saber-edge hearts cackle and crow, hackles
aroused,
A preening cavalcade now,
Lured by a neon kiss,
That winks, scarlet and shameless
Disguised as a sign, in a storefront,
somewhere,
Luring the hearts to the chopping block,
Still combing and pecking and
Scratching in the grainy sawdust
Awaiting the inevitable
In the cheerless saloon
Where nobody knows your name
And never will.