sal carter Biography

Grey street corner
A frozen room
Lonely bed
A dying moon
...

Veins bulge upwards out of your rugged hands, criss-crossed with lines,
Pumping hardworking blood around your body,
Your blood, my blood,
...

The musty smell
hangs
weightless in the air.
...

Mohawk standing like a battle flag,
Darkened eyeliner, metal-cut nose and lips,
Flesh carved into words exposed on his bare back,
Low slung belt, with chain heavy jeans.
...

The tracks scream out beneath the train.
...