Wasted youth?
In role and dote, the done
Proud to accept your who'th...
Come and compare, a soul for fun

Tale of the option, many
And few make such famous shade
For friends and enemy's, asking any
Who would notice, a price for legends

Powers of particular, 'if not history'...
Where has a clash with purpose been, sincerity
Patience for a canny wish, the fate of epistolary
Notion in a heed we due, your way or may yet, of visionary...

Was this, that in lead of those?
Couldn't a heard difference, defer to a wiser anarchy?
Straight to you, seldom was a fate for the better moment?
We have made in a notorious heat, with when to tell, a sight's vanity?

When the light will tell the thickness of poems,
When the rain washes the letters,
I will come from ancient times past
A mechanical rusty doll.

On the wall nakalabay a few words.
I even will not be enough.
About the others, gone before, fighters,
The ones that are gone.

It won't be the eternal "punks not dead".
We're not that *****.
We're stuck with corks in our stomachs.,
We're just tin cans.

If someone reads my text on the wall,
The creak this song will.
But there's no difference in footprints.
The prints of the feet of we the people.

My friends and I
are forlorn fabrics
haphazardly stitched into a quilt.

Comprised of different textures and fabrics,
frayed at the ends,
rejected pieces meant for the trash,
not good enough for made-to-wear mall clothes.

My friends and I
fit like a puzzle
consisting of pieces from various other puzzles--
found under coffee tables,
between couch cushions,
tossed into the bowels of forlorn toy bins--
forming a collage of something
disoriented and ambiguous.

Crammed together,
smashing our appendages,
leaving crooked gaps,
wrinkled, torn, ****** up,
but feeling better here
than in our small contribution
to the bland image of our factory's design.

My friends and I,
outcasts, rejects, punks,
convening in the junkyard heap
where we dance and laugh among trash
that makes us feel clean.
Pure when we're filthy.

Quilts and puzzles,
to instill and befuddle;
****** treasures.