the face of the broken man appears to one man 
   with the loud
mouth and shaking godspeed

in the crack houses where the lost and found
are gathered in the speakeasy future

of dying dung wounds
and the alabaster holding tank screams

you have warrants out sinner
credit for time served?

the pregnant mother whose back is covered
in a black tattoo haze of the Mexican 
   subculture

no insurance suspected driver’s license
INS has a hold on you

Christ is processed through
he needs to see the nurse

his chest x-ray is negative for TB
but his wide MIA sternum shows a broken
heart

unseen tears for those soon to be booked
checking out with duplicate fingerprints

he gave me his baloney sandwich
and I knew my that my warrants had been 
   erased

this time…