Roadkill in black
eyeliner walks
through rain-soaked streets.
Some drift ghosted back 

into shaken
frames, the brittle
bone long since crushed
and brushed off. Others resurrect 

their posture in long black
boots to strut tall
toward their new hero
worship—could be shadow 

dancing, could be a spiritual
awakening to a higher
burn of wheels over the real man
hole concealing their souls.