Mohawk standing like a battle flag, <br />Darkened eyeliner, metal-cut nose and lips, <br />Flesh carved into words exposed on his bare back, <br />Low slung belt, with chain heavy jeans. <br /> <br />Back held strong, feet planted wide, <br />Slowly nodding head, and revolving arms, <br />Keeping pace with the beat <br />Waiting for breakdown <br /> <br />Neck tensed, fist clenched, <br />Eyes trained, arms wide, <br />Hands beckoning, <br />Salute, respect, challenge, <br /> <br />And the beat kicks in. <br /> <br />And the whole world blurs like a picture, <br />Lights spin, <br />Bodies compact, <br />Clashing, <br />Whirling, <br />Twisting away, <br /> <br />Lost in a world of anger, <br /> <br />Pain dulled to an ache, <br />Ignored <br /> <br />And still in the centre, the Mohawk, rises,<br /><br />sal carter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mosh/
