Not believing in anything I just sit, <br />listening to my breathing. <br />After thirty years <br />It still goes in and out. <br />-Albert Coelho <br /> <br /> <br />We see the world through blackened eyes <br />and heavy shoes, dead-set non-conformists, <br />every one armed with black iron hair, <br />steel chains, and barb-wire biceps. <br />We wear a uniform of all black, but this <br />is New York where everyone does. <br /> <br />South of Bleecker we congregate <br />like cousins at a wedding, <br />determined not to care, but we do. <br />Our parents don't understand. <br />The police are against us, and <br />the government has failed. <br />You admit we have a point. <br /> <br />On Sunday mornings we move <br />from one end of Greenwich to the other, <br />paired up like zippers <br />on an old leather jacket, chanting lyrics <br />like psalms reaffirming our religion. <br />Give us time. We are only just beginning <br />to question everything, understand <br />less, believe in nothing.<br /><br />Lori Boulard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0001-punks/
