Gunned down. Dragged away.Nothing left.Just broke dreams in Oakland streets,Kids acting adults and adults acting kids,Forgetting and forgottenUnsure o... who and shaky,Shaky with the what.Frightened of the when.Just drugged deliriumin a bubble of graffiti'd ignorance,Failed attempts to just Be Like Mike!So here I am, there I am. Andy Warhol’s 100 Cans, a repetitious grid of ten by ten: yellow on red on white on why the fuck can’t I break free from these rusting cans… this nightmare prison of tin. I shifted, the shiver manacles binding my wrists together, and preventing me from communicating with the spirits that abound in Faerie, clinked.Zanyia stalked into the room, her tail swishing back and forth. She had a big smile on her face as she padded towards the guard. I sat up, my heart beating so fast at the sudden appearance of the lamia. She was naked, her tawny hair spilling about her mischievous face, her triangular ears twitching in rhythm to her swaying tail thrusting from above her. More

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