Hail to its concrete face
Houston city streets keep their devouring pace
a racing matrix of mass destruction
you do the mathematics
it's a spiral staircase of deduction,
a swarm of flies flirting with a garbage pile,
rubbish set to rot near a curb
A malodorous child emerges
Kalvin Coolie is not your average troubadour
. . . a coffee house poet that pours to the brim,
all at once,
at every table
He 's able to entice an audience with psychic chase
bait and switch
Itch and scratch your head for a little sense
maybe his poems could stand as reason
. . . ears will be the judge of that
parchment vice
Hail to its concrete face
Houston city streets keep their devouring pace
a racing matrix of mass destruction
Kalvin Coolie is not your average troubadour