hooked

some hardened poets speak straight shots to the gut—
left hook, right cross, choked up and clenched,
while others strum chords on the heartstrings,
transform their eulogies into epic love ballads.

and some resonate in empty stomachs
with the ragged rumble of want.

an army of voyeurs writes in curves to the hands
to touch, caress, fantasize, idealize...
still others place the wrists upon pedestals
worshiping them as the front doors to and from life.

the scholars propose postulations to the brain
elaborately weaving interminable truths;
yet others stir up sediment coded into the blood,
dirty pedigrees of streets and castes.

and shaking junkies direct-inject adrenaline,
throttle through the verses, leave you gasping,
as nomads show wandering feet the footprints
of those countless loners gone ahead on their own.

i don't know where i speak to
but as long as it hooks you
i'll spin the reel, content.