Nostalgia reclines on my couch
skimming photos of my feral girls
now grown to incredible women —

these girls with poem-drunk tongues
and bonfire hearts; burning silhouettes
of brief lives into concrete walls;

who made a slam dance of history,
carving defiance on their knuckles,
pockets full of gasoline and matchbooks;

who trailed heartbreak like smoke –
Pavlov’s boys behind them, unsuitable, less solid
than the boxer’s glint that steadied them to new bells;

who wore intellect as glamour, war-paint aesthetics,
speaking rain dance and leather, speaking rain —
claiming poems from the char of lightning strikes.

To them, who amaze me still,
I wish them that lightning
to keep forever in their hands.  

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About Victor D. Infante

2 9
Victor D. Infante is writing from the edge of a hurricane. Quite literally, actually. He needs to get this submission out before the storm hits, because he may well lose power. And that would be awkward. He is the editor-in-chief of "Radius: Poetry From the Center to the Edge," the author of 'city of Insomnia," more from Write Bloody Publishing, and a guy who knows a thing or two about "Dancing With the Stars."
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