Minutes after midnight

those prophetic patterns
run deep in his soul
they climb through
the ladders of his DNA
and knock on his heart
in the minutes after
midnight
they point out
the young woman
who draws her dreams
on the sidewalk
for passersby to
tread upon
they indicate
the man
who waits by
the intersection
swallowing his smoke
as it his constant, yet only
friend
they single out
the laughing children
who will never be born
under soot cloud skies
that bleed what man has
made by destroying
what God has made
they turn to
the days beyond
thirsty lips of problems
the gnashing teeth of need
to days of silence
to days of depth
deeper than the images
caught in brief moments
when walking past
store windows
to seconds spent
as decades before
a setting sun that
won't surrender
to a suicidal slap
that breaks the shell
to be delivered
from this living hell
to wake up in those
minutes after midnight