Not that. Not a black and blue
rant, bruising the paper, a howl
at the moon-faced, blank-look reader.
Not a sundrop below the horizon. So?
Raindrops are falling on your metre,
that doesn’t mean your verse is free to moo
and chew over wizened cliches like hay, like, hey,
all I am asking is —
It was many years later, I was around 40 now and I was relaxing on my back porch and musing on the past. The band had run it’s course with some success but we were ahead of our time, misunderstood. As things usually go, bands that followed us, that copied our style made all the money. They looked better, had better management, had vocal coaches and hairdressers and fitness coaches and image coaches. Some of the creeps even went to college to learn how to be a rock star. It was laughable how they came on all tough but were some of the most pampered individuals on the planet. The people wanted lies, the people wanted things packaged in something simple they could understand. And that’s what they bought. But I couldn’t complain, we had a good 8 year run, made a little money before the usual things happened; the power struggles, ego-trips and substance abuse. I had to walk away from it all before I Cobain’d out.
Look, I know how it is: you are quivering
with untapped energies.
All you need
is to share them. So you call your brother,
Gabe, but for the millionth time
he’s too busy â€“ this time,
with Jello. Coffee. The fine Colombian
might soak up some of your disappointment.
And your wannabe-fashion-model leap
from boxers to briefs hasn’t changed a thing.
Now there’s only one place left to go
but the cat looks away
and will not warm your ankles.
From deep within comes a rumbling