in the last desperate last cheesy cafe
the last words were muttered at the last open mic
on the last bored avenue among the last sunken observer
for just this chance to sign.
fallen heroes of every little bohemia
in every city
do our stanzas fall even on the angry proportions of critique?
the sun sets
the final pabst or dark coffee plunges aptly down the last gullet
where are we going?
there are so many avenues of nothing
so much scenic desolation
so much love wrenched from the pages of obscurity.
you will never be on a wilco album
def jux doesn't want you.
summon up your failures and obscurity as a monstrous dagger
post modernism is vomiting out your irony
your cities are gentrifying faster than you can ride a fixed gear
is it empire, oblivion or oblivious.?
cherish this fuzzy feeling whatever it is
it might be all we get
till we summon ourselves to storm the gates
wanting so much more...