I guess no one likes poetry, oh well*nt

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: : This is a poem by Patrick Rosal from Jersey, just read his first book and it is one of the greatest things i've read in a long time. This isn't my fav poem he wrote, just the first one I read. Also if anyone else knows any good poets I would like to hear about them. Enjoy : : B-Boy Infinitives: : : To suck until our lips turned blue : : the last drops of cool juice : : from a crumpled cup sopped : : with spit the first Italian Ice of summer : : To chase posicle stick skiffs : : along the curb skimming stormwater : : from Woodbridge Ave. to Old Post Road : : To be To B-boy To be boys who : : snuck into a garden to pluck : : a baseball from mud and shit : : To hop that old man's fence before : : he burst through his front door : : with a lame-bull limp charge : : and the fist the size of a half spade : : To be To B-boy to lace shell-toe Adidas : : To say word to Kurtis Blow : : To laugh in the afternoons : : someone's mama was so black : : when she stepped out of the car : : the oil light went on : : To count hairs sprouting : : around our cocks To touch : : ourselves To pick the half-smoked : : True Blues from my father's ashtray : : and cough the gray grit : : into my hands To run : : my tounge along the lips of a girl : : with crooked teeth To be : : To B-boy To be boys for the ten day's : : an 8-foot gash of cardboard lasts : : after we dragged it : : seven blocks then slapped it : : on the cracked blacktop To spin : : on our hands and backs To bruise : : elbows wrists and hips To Bronx-Twist : : Jersey version beside the mid-day traffic : : To swipe To pop To lock freeze and : : drop dimes on the hot pavement- : : even if the girls stopped watching : : and the street lamps buzzed all : : night we danced like that : : and no noe called us home

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