Brosco sips demons,
cups runneth over,
his back snaps like a twig.

Brosco rests,
sunlight stings his wounds,
whipped by roots in italics.

Brosco stares,
and sees warm fire,
and carefully embraces.

Brosco sighs,
takes in sweet, poetic breaths,
smiles ignite his heart.

Brosco sits,
feet dangling
at the edge of a cliff,
naked shoulders
wrapped in sunlight.


Brosco waits,
chews the air,
spits out the clouds,
gets busy and decides
to fall in love the sun.

Brosco walks,
steps like dynamite
(boom-shaka-laka),
and grinds his teeth
like the sound of a savage drum.