7.9

John Dillinger sleeps here,

his body moldering in a

cemetery broad, barren and

massive enough to hide the

measure of his forgotten soul.

Indiana boy, killer, bank robber,

his rock star culture of crime

celebrity telling more of his times

than his life. Best girl Billie finishing

in small town Wisconsin.

Vampires and zombies now

claim our eyes, sealing within

them the angst of our own

dust bowl days. Dour and

despairing, like the outlaw

voices of the heartland.

Roll them over slowly,

bang the drum lowly

play the death march

as we travel along.

Magic and music, crimes

and rock fusion, dire traits

reveal who we fear we’ve

become.

—————————————-

**Crown Hill Cemetery, Indianapolis]