On a nearby corner people

gather like twisted vines, listening

to street rhythms and sidewalk music.

Standing there was a rite of passage,

an image statement of you.

It’s where passions are formed and spirits

blend, where names have value and

brotherhood reigns.

The traffic is a language in motion. A sound

familiar and expected day and night,

pressed over concrete and tar where

the corner becomes a stairway to the

center of the world.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s