Luyện nghe bài hát King Park

Another shooting on the side. This a drive-by, mid-day
of the bus stop, by Fuller and Franklin. Or near there.
Not far from the park. About a block from where the shooting was last month.
Or was it week?

Shots fired from an SUV heading northbound, Eastown
The target a but they didn't hit the target this time.
hit a kid we think had nothing to do with it.

And I backwards through time and space and I disintegrate, become invisible.

I want to see it where I couldn't it happened.
I want to see it all hand this time.
I want to what it felt like.
So I behind police lines, reconstruct the scene in fragments of memories.
I want to know what his looked like up close, I want to see her leaning over his body.
So I float there, transcend time. I to capture it accurately.
I want to what the color of the blood was spilling out from the tarp onto the concrete.

I want to it all down so I can always remember.

If you see it up close how could you ever forget how senseless death, how precious life.
I want to be there the bullet hit.

And the poured out as the shots drowned into siren sounds, out of there houses now
And over front yards, all the way up to the place where the police ran to mark the crime scene.
Everybody trying to catch a of what was happening
Of what was on between the ambulance and all the cop cars.

gossiping,
"Whose kid got hit? Where'd it hit him? And who could've it?"
wondering, "How did it happen again? And is he dead? These children. Our kids."
Everybody wondering how far they were from where the lived.

And I them, their houses. Inside my dream I visit them.
My spirit, soaring high and high up over King Park, leaves the crime scene, travels further
far before the shooting, through their windows, to their living rooms.
I see them younger this time, playing games and homework.
All these marks of youth soon transformed coldly stone for fights and stupid feuds.
For ruins wrapped in gold. And cruelly I recall why I come: To find a reason. But
cannot be a reason, not for death, not like this. Not like this.
Three days later made funeral plans. The family.
days later a mother had to bury her son.
Not far away the holed up in a hotel near to the highway with a friend and the gun.
same gun.
He fled immediately but was by witnesses, his picture on TV.
Only 20 years old, they called him "Grandpa." He was than the others by a year,
two.
And he was safe for awhile somebody saw him there
and notified the
Who surrounded the hotel, first arresting an accomplice attempting to flee
chasing him up the staircase to the floor where he'd stayed. He closed the door hard
Behind him, himself in the room.
They kicked in the door but knew the gun was still with him
One he'd already used and so they feared he'd do.
I floated up through the window of a to the West.
I hovered out to the hallway, to listen in.
I them trying to reason, get him to open the door.
His uncle begging and pleading, to the floor.
He of hope and forgiveness
said, "There is always a chance to rectify what taken, make your peace in the world."
I thought to slip through the door, I could've the room
I felt the burden of murder, it earth to the core.
Felt the world was collapsing. Then we heard him speak
"Can I still get into if I kill myself?
Can I still get into heaven if I kill
Can I be forgiven cause I killed that kid?
It was an accident I swear it meant for him!
And if I turn it on me, if I even it out, can I still get in or will they send me to
Can I still get into if I kill myself?"
I left the hotel behind, don't to know how it ends.