IN A CITY THAT HUMS THROUGH CRACKED POTHOLES,

 THAT MUTTERS ITS NAME IN WHISPERS – NAPTOWN.

THE ECHO CHAMBERS OF BASEMENTS AND DIVE BARS,

WHERE TRYING TO BE SEEN IS TRYING TO BREATHE.

SUMMERTIME HANGS HEAVY, SWEAT-SLICK AND ELECTRIC,

THE KIND OF HEAT THAT BIRTHS VERSES

AND TURNS EVERY CORNER INTO A STAGE.