Punch
The shadows of weeds emerge
from cracks in the sidewalk to
chew my shoe laces.
You land butterfly kisses on my knuckles
just
before the punch
That displaces air like
jigsaw magic.
It greets the surface
with meteoric customs.
Listen to yourself, your howls.
Root-spread nerve endings
sing the joyous
chorus of pain
to your brain.
The world turns through a skew
ed time funnel,
Distorted through a lens
Perforated with blind spots.
In hind sight, hind sight is a luxury.
__________________
and we stayed, sixteen.
Last edited by Rubber; 03-24-2009 at 08:53 PM.
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