Wolves in Heron Bay

From Long Cove to the Estates,
fangs strike fear in the hearts
who ruin the world worse. 

The tattoo gun buzzes
and trees wave bye
to horizon eyes.

My folks never lived
especially with life on,
but soon we gambled with candles. 

My fingers and my soul
tried to count on you,
but they lost the battle to blues.

Wild we are,
in nigga hoods,
writing and playing. 

From bullshit past
to the lips of future,
freedom hurts like water.

Don't be me, please,
for I am the writer who wishes
and buries shame across the avenue. 

Left where fish blink,
shaking like banjo home, 
constant like love gone.