Kid down the street swears that he is a black belt - I seen him practicing in the field beside Roosevelt - Rumor has spread that he owns a real sword - He’ll do a split kick if you hold the board - I have no doubt that his skills come in handy but I get by fine with a jump rope and candy - Never that taken with the motorcycle - I dream my way through using minimal muscles - Up in the canopy with a tiny pad of paper - Summon the warm rain to rust out the staples and draw the ghost up from the asphalted bus stop - With newspaper hats we march toward the black top - With a finger on my forehead I look for a sun sign - Lead me toward the belted equator line - I want to lie down, half North and half South - The turn of the globe realign my spine - No need for specialists, needles or collagen - Heat and humidity make me a kid again