#junktown
Used to be frail, and pale, weak inside now
the darkened leather of skin has done much
more than save my life.
It's consumed.
Dark steel armor has worn, formed rusted spikes
that slowly push to impale with blunted
and poisonous points.
I've inhaled
After one long, deep and drawn out sigh in
to twilight's heels, it feels as though it kills
to survive the night.
. . .
To survive tonight
Welcome to the party
Trash can lights light, illuminate
To survive tonight
Free junk and dry cardboard
Beckon, calling out names
That sound like yours
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
It was the anthem of an era – a short-lived era,
and I think only those of us who lived there
could have detected it at the time.
**** you, I'm punk."
There is constant reinvention, recreation, but
I am sure it will never be the effortless –ism it once was.
We are accessible now, but we were visible then.
We were the spectrum, we were the speed,
an onslaught of red Sunfires and green T-Birds.
There were nights I could swear (to whatever God was to me then)
that I had seen every last one of them trickle in or out,
sometimes all at once.
There were days I was a constant, an observer,
terrified of missing whatever "it" wound up being.
Most of the time, I was seemingly absent – maybe soulless, even.
With coaxing, I would be brought back from stratospheric distances
to a camaraderie that seems sacred now.
None of us thought it so back then.
The grip we thought we needed always seemed to elude us.
What we did have was vital to us all,
though we couldn't admit such vulnerability –
our eyes bugging out and our hearts caving in.
And now, knowing the future is destined to be wavy and unknown
like the tracers leaving callous brushstrokes behind everything they see,
I realize how the brick sidewalk was a sight for sore eyes if I ever stood staring at one,
motionless.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC