small ruffians
pose under stoned heroes
who’s stardom now weighs more than they
and stands at the corner
of the historical border
where students gather & study the art of the greats

I count on my nails the brownstones
the cobblestones
the heat so strong graffiti burns
it’s profane colors lift away, from brick to brick
to cool and set in sidewalk stone

like a waxy substance turning cold
my ankles harden
up those concrete steps
I am not the fighter I once thought
my blood can barely take the hit

O Philadelphia
you crumbling piece of shit
you’d file down the chains you wear
but like the smell of iron
and the sweet blood of rust
too much
between your teeth
to quit




let the wind play
a tune just for us
the monochrome breeze
gathering dust
it seeps through my hair
& hyper chimes
all but a metaphor
(love practices blind)
bricks are misplaced
walls are collapsed
in desperate times
we are made to laugh
at things that we buy
cities we hate
mortars are crying
(the white flags are late)
my bed is on fire
every thread singeing
in a funeral pyre
what is it that makes
love burn so bright?
is it the weather
is it the fights
we’re all under water without oxygen tanks
searching for air
(and no fish to thank)
i can still taste Morocco
under the silk
amber-lit flowers
with it’s saffron thrills
it’s mint and it’s melodies
it’s piss and it’s hash
i asked for forgiveness
(instead got a rash)
my midnights are dark
my soul in a bind
wrapped tight like a tourniquet
in silver, in twine
i drenched it in gasoline
with no match in sight
if my body must burn
(let the cause be your light)