Inner City Child

dreaming of a space beyond walls, beyond counting.
dancing down the lanes like children,
splashing puddles as we go,
the water takes neon,
electric paint,
staining the winter with our path.

I'm childish, I'm a child,
but a bigger man than fear will hold.
in the wake they'll try to scold,
but you can keep you subscription,
return your franchise,
up my dose,
lower my coat,
flash my ass at the world.



* (I want you to understand something. My ego demands that you understand. This is bop prosody -- Of fuel of inspiration. What kicks me. Perhaps I could write this pome better. Polish it. Pre-digest it for you. Pour over it for hours. Days. Weeks... Years. But I didn't. I tapped it out as it came into my head with no revision except for some punctuation so you might be able to comprehend it. There's nothing to sell here. I hope you can understand that).