Benny Briscoe's Theory of Flight

Heavy hands touch the sky..

Dirty fingernails conceal a prize fighter...

Under street lights, alley way persuasion..

Heavy hands collect Sunday dinner left to

rot on the curb..

Shadow boxing combinations, punch drunk wisdom

keep heavy hands higher than Eddie Kendrick's falsetto.

Fisticuffs strike wind, left jab taps the chin..

Motor running on salty egg whites, hot sauce,

and the sight of another mans fear.

Taking a heart without surgery, jus stitches.

Sparing with the heaviness of being a lightweight.......