Peddling for Power

by Mathew Richard Carter

They used to shuffle
bricks of the shit
on turncoat territory,
feeding the heads of
a generation lost
to the solid, steel rebellion
of inserted needle youth.

Ribbons of light would grace the skin
on a daily basis here in So Cal,
with nothing to fear except failure
and all its lingering siblings
of strength against the will.

Their domain was Glendale,
but veered south that day, on the trail
to more dollars with plenty
of sense, made possible
by tone arms and needle-scratch parties
with beatbox Gen X heads and the assorted
post-college townies.

All the while, they pervade
their bloodstream with
less of a poison, more
as a remedy, to activate
life and movement,
even if only temporarily.

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