ST. URCHIN'S DAY

The sun's hot sticky unpleasantness bequeathed
to the wolverine stomach
burning, bubbling, rumbling like a gourd churning butter.
Another sniff from the beautiful, woebegone dirty plastic bottle
commands the army of euphoria
maddeningly pulsing through, throbbing
like village drummers beat.
A red orb disciplines colored metals
as a masculine limb ostentaciously announces times existence.
Graceful feline agility engulfs the soul
whisking Mrs Minute on their honeymoon.
Shots! curses! yells! disappointedly ricochet city walls
but street smart a beating heart perspires.
Flashy fake rolex resigns
as three hundred shillings closes the newly opened account.
Three hundred shillings of fortune
a metropolitan badland goldmine.
THREE HUNDRED SHILLINGS!!
That belies the stinking rot of poverty.
It is a two day automatic edible teller
topped with a tall glass of crossboned euphoria.
The inky caress of cold unfriendly pavements
splashes cold-wet, cold-hard, cold-muddy
on the nocturnal menu.

Nightly peril prowls the cosmopolitan badland
where the night-visioned tourists delight.
Perception of unidentified commotion
unfolds precarious law abiders taunting barrel-chested words.
The gun is loaded with punches and kicks
a language of words without words
delicious punches and kicks
the oppressors cashed cheque.
sweet, sweet punches and kicks
behead the soul at the crossroad.

The contractors annointed in innocent blood
flee, belching their consciences.
Offspring of emotion sprout bemusedly
staring into lifeless eyes
incoherent comprehension echoes destiny's fate.
Twenty four hours of dark and light
dance in anguished enmity.
Reality and dream begrudgingly reward with pain
  The lifespan autobiographed by them who dare to dream
as mindless kissing of intoxicating happiness
pedestals bright colors of neurotic impulses
and poetic suggestions that the infinity
of time is limited.