© Steve Gray 2026
I’m walking here. The pavement bleeds.
I do not cast a shadow; I am a ghost in the machine.
I look, I feel, I touch the soul of this infected state,
unearthing how the gears grind down beneath the static light.
Just walking here. One leaden heel. The start, the middle, end.
Then plant the boot, and spit the bile, and do it all again.
Until the iron meets the bone. Until the cycle breaks.
Until the target in the dark gives up the thing it takes.
