Tourists amble off buses, clad in the nervous
chatter of intrusion, searching for superheroes.
They suffocate the sidewalks of Hollywood,
trampling over handprints embedded in slabs of
concrete that will outlast glitter and celluloid.
Boys wrap drum beats into the skin of paint buckets,
rhythms that hunt for a quickening pulse,
beckoning a bat winged man on roller blades.
He glides through the spotlight, leather sheathing
his lean muscles, spikes shimmering at his throat.
Towering like myth above the gaping mouths
of visitors who are hungry for a taste of divinity,
he shatters the sky with garlands of laughter,
shrieking his delight into the afternoon.
Silence falls over stars encased in obsidian.
Stars Encased in Obsidian by Susan Richardson
