This is the Life
Street Punk: Hard Core and Gutter
Leather and metal, mohawk, Mad Dog
Colored vomit, dried egg
On squat walls and no water
Sewage. Skin smooth as thick glass
Yellow like old paper. Street Punk
Tell the drunk bums to shut the fuck up
Tell the dirty men to fuck
Themselves, smack an old junkie
Nodding off in a door frame
I drift off, dream about lizards
I thrust forward my dry tongue
The sky, far shining desert
Come closer. Bus stop on Market, cold
Concrete, food stamps and beer
Panhandle University
Wake at dawn and watching
Sun rising, pyramid shadows my bones.
copyright Kristina Coker
2 comments:
Kristina,
You may have something here. I really like the second stanza; the short U sounds give the poem a strong rhythm that I'd like to see throughout. It feels very Seattle. Very Capitol Hill- though the reference to a bus on Market puts it in Ballard, eh? I think that's Ballard. Wherever it is, like I said, you have something here. Good.
Brian (the guy who wears funny hats in poetry class)
Grr... it makes me uncomfortable but I'll link your biographical blog to mine. Visit "I don't Know Where I'm From..."
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