Kick, Punch
Tear at the stucco and concrete walls
Destroy the stalls, just outside the gates
That lie about clarity
I did not intentionally drown in this pit
I just opened my mouth
And the decay rushed in
1988 or 89
It was winter time
I can't remember, exactly, when
I was just a school boy then
Ripping and ranting
Beat
Beat the world, the sky
Beat the streets that hide
Molestations and homicides
Fly
Fly high, and higher still
On wings that Beat
Like poetry in alleys
Like a hustler at orientation
Like a root that's reached the sky
PW Covington is a Pushcart-nominated poet and writer. He writes in the Beat tradition of the North American highway.
More at www.PWCovington.com
Covington can set a mood and tell a story in few words. He slways leaves me satisfied and somehow wanting more.
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