#34

Shadowboxing in an alley with the late afternoon
sun-curtain of North Hollywood draped just to my left.

Across town, an old-timer takes a hit in the jaw
falls to the ground, groceries rolling against the curb.

Look, give me something to bow before,
and I'll be the first one on my knees.

I see you want to tear off my arms--
go ahead, they're nothing more than grenade pins.

I'll take directions, follow the sound of a chorus
dialed directly from that canyon in the moon.

Until then, though, take that Sword of Damocles
away from my head--

I swear to God I'll grab it, blade-first
and beat you senseless with its handle while I bleed.