Each street is covered in mud, stray dogs search for their owners bodies they toss and tumble through the wreckage like dendrites, millions of branched extensions pile in the streets a nightmare from hell. Blue gray bits of flesh become one with murky water. The population size diminishes down to the size of a single axon, the stadium its terminal. Black arms above rooftops, seeking a signal, a recognizable sound, of no one is coming, capillaries at fingertips lose their color. When the waiting sleep, it is in waiting. When given refuge, it is in waiting. Children make finger guns amongst each other, emulate officers in black and blue who refuse to come and get them. Like cell walls, New Orleans is permeable. Cells walls protect organelles of the cell but sometimes water gets through and when it does the ark is flooded and the animals run loose or fields are flooded and people start to drown having waited atop rooftops black arms raising in the air waiting for someone, anyone, to come and stop by so the children keep playing making finger guns but the men in black and blue the men with guns and power they don’t come so the blood continues to run.
