A Supernova Life

This freestyle poem was created by brainstorming for words and phrases that characterized Paulie Jensen, the antagonist of my WIP novel, Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of Your Fist.  Sort of a ‘word portrait’.


Son of a streetwalker,
Born in the city
On a sweltering night,
Teenage mama high as a kite.
He came into this jungle
Crimson face, fisted hands,
Roaring like a lion cub,
And he never stopped,
Tooth-and-claw to the top.
As a boy he grew,
Head of his crew,
Running wild,
Man-child.
This boy was too cool,
Unschooled,
Street-smart
Work of art,
Poisoned dart to the heart.
Young eagle left the nest
Self-possessed, self-obsessed,
Standing out from the rest.
A natural-born hustler
At a tender age;
He hit the stage
Hanging out at the arcade,
Eyes on the men eyeing him–
“Hey, got a quarter for me mister?”
“Yeah, I just might.”
Looks like he’ll sleep in a bed tonight.
Self-employed rentboy,
Swivel-hipped, full-lipped,
Diesel powered,
Loaded gun with a hair-trigger.
All flash and swagger,
A little Al Capone,
A little Mick Jagger,
Chalked up, full cup,
Time bomb with a short fuse,
Pierced nipples, tattoos,
Standing between the bar and men’s room,
The men pay, the ladies swoon.
He’s charismatic, cinematic,
Cocksure, pure porn,
Takes a punch to the face with grace,
Spits blood and smiles.
An alpha dog, a lone wolf,
Bulletproof,
Little work, a lot of play,
Doing eighty on the freeway,
Speeding by, flying high,
Both ends of his candle
Burning like headlights.
Fire can’t burn too long so bright.
He’s gonna go down like Lucifer.

And when his fire’s out
He’ll leave a circle of ashes
That’ll blow away.
A supernova life,
Gone without a trace.

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