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***** down Onceknown Road, an older morning
bursts outta the grit. Flytipt empires,
laidback wasteland warns there'll be no warnings.
Smiths'-song-street all shut suppersuppliers,
where might carpark oak or traffic isle elm
egdeh-comb cyclist's quiff should kerb unhelm,
next to busstop ad for new nervous tic.
Path of trundling on, tumultuously
normal, obliquely extraordinary
now flashbacks draw out, razor nostalgic.

Rowdied w/ 2 hubblydribbling drummers,
crumb comrades of cheeba cheer 'long  this road.
Studenty stovepipe house rhythmic slummers
fauve-fengshui'd, tho' precise narriow abode
alt-rawk teen trashedom PWNed, I'll pass outrite.
This road tho'. Omissive potholelands' tite-
lipt pockpits are due to dumb blip veil, Youth's
doob loop. ******* as scones, but partying
nous postponed postpubesecent perma-aging
for hol of nice naive brave haze, loose truths.

We were 90s grinadiers, lushes lean,
but did svelte sybarites swear off jimjams
& sack jobhunts to trade kugs w/ a Treen,
chug ponders peapodded w/ Grendel's mam?
Thought nonstoppathon tootenanny
altered moodiness like a green granny...
Piffleflaps! Prosphene Raybans of Blowmance
screen 1st gapyear on the dole for gads all
so legendary they sidestep recall;
for we steal liberty from ignorance.  

Later came grinning nadirs: alcaponed
& algerhissed drift from drumming duo,
all my old mates, to ***** & **** alone
on Chronic Island. Years beached like fatsoes
of the ocean, sonar bloaters. The mail
washed up: 'Why did you never find me?' Snail-
mail sans sails, once ale-full, in my own hand,
same grubby starfish that lobbed littoral
letter indicts loner as terminal
islander, tho' I quit Chronic Island.

Just kids, but faked stuff sincerely then, at one
leas' thru fakealong faith in fun. Yet the
quarries of qualms churned, gyres of the undone
unspooled kudzu spinelessness, a kidder
undefinespun. Zhuzhedup Past a plaintive
'sheesh', last niche pastiche, same intempestive
taisch, a disembodied gulp, a limbed fib.
Lightweights in the mist of dawn's roachbow trails
to noon brainjails. Start states sacrosanct, stale.
Tsk, Past teaches how to pish. Sunrise squibs.

Even in England, the nite is slitely
more junglish, even inside. Nite's teen knites
genied swanvestas like titch diwali,
not to sway over choral candlelite
- over gummy coffeetable waitin'
for stoner Noah's dovetail joint. Raven
rectricarse of raspiration adult-
hood's sulferous selflessness will whistle.
'Cras cras!' Dust wassails unexcitable
stardusthood. Asthma, my own stupid fault.

— The End —