litter the alley.
under the moon,
they glisten like
pond stones.
street lights
peel off
their slick backs
as they scatter
into cracks
or under
unknowing
foot.
every gum spot
yields
a stuttered step,
a leap in the opposite
direction where
an actual black spot
creeps,
swinging its fat caboose
under spindly legs
that'll be upright
by morning.
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