THE LOST BOYS

sun stuck to the sky like a ball of frozen fire
over the house where the Lost Boys live. doors
loosely locked and shades pulled down, inside it is always night
for them. no birds fly over it, but hasten higher,
above the clouds of pungent poison. floors
whisper secrets and walls softly weep yellow tears. it might
have been a home, before this, except for that. once
there was music, now only noise, terrors
and demons that haunt the walking dead
living on the edge of reality. the hero, in his mind, hunts
the dragon, using guns for toys- colors
of christmas, dirty money mixed up with trails of bloodshed