my skin hotter than blown glass
fresh out the oven
ya temper tempts me to put fist to stomach
assist sounds to plunder
take down her number
then throw out the napkin in the trash
sit back write about it and wonder
if i had picked her to be wife
could i re adjust my morals and
determine her actions rights?
In most circumstances, I wouldn't
so I dance nunez, a street boom
box rocking the block like that
july 9 am Sun; break dancing
youth station cardboard stages
at hand for tourist entertainment
rent, practice and all of the above.
The wall behind them freshly painted
over, white anti graffiti paint flaking
like BIC white out left out for an hour
too long. Sitting staunch across the
street a man with overalls rolled up
to his knee laughs, cobra hidden in a
brown bodega sack and the peach
he stole right under his wife's nose
that peachsupernova red with a pinch
of C minus red. Chunks lodged in
his back molars bite after slurping
bite.
No comments:
Post a Comment