winter did a chokehold on quivering soul-darkness
of punk rock's formula anger failed.
i am a dissolved man against backdrop of storm palpitation
and subtle eye-lit contentedness
against the well kissed small of yr back
on the idle tapestry image of day
i anticipated words and it got me this:
the chance is that we will never look back,
may we never become nostalgia
against winter-meadowlark meth chatter,
may we gamble against time
that it never be worn thin
as a crass casinotown floor.
i have whithered my bones here now for you
wonder for warmth,
question the novelty of newness,
how i toss about love like haphazard devotion
being intrigued and pro-vacated
by its possible seeds.
we have come here to declare war
on the real world
and build our armor in the shell of the old
forge forth some semblance of realization
of stuff that we might be.