Were you alive when the bricks began to crumble beneath our hand-held, kiss puppets?
Our mumbled whispers that tapered ladders on gargantuan folds and slung-held boy-grips.
Cohorts torn into flip stands layered toward standing sores -- tell me how to cross rapid waters of social trends.
We were strung up the flag pole, almost posted as decapitated heads for the public.
Under teeming hammer-strikes : glasses shred to paper-splinters before a car crying white chalk bricks onto saran-wrapped concrete.
There were antennas perched like speckled, mangy feathers, poised, reflecting defiance toward the wool-ashed sky.
With dirt-trekked journey marks, there were trees growing silver hair outside the grocery store -- and frown-marked women -- that skin-folded war paint -- yelled at their daughters to pay attention.