Saturday, April 14, 2012

Something Grunge

Poetic grit
through minds
born into negation
a generation of Screaming
The Trees of the unruly, rooted
in subcultures of spunk
emotion, like pearls jammed and wrenched
through the heart, through the guts
and delivered
on the wings of
silverfucking rock cherubs
after a decade of lithium-induced
electronic keyboard
and the stench of teen spirit
a sound garden of unintelligible lyrics
creeping through vaseline
like the repeated shuffling
of a rooster in the dirt
erasing and changing its tracks
to suit its mood
as if honey from mud
you know you're right
to look up at the sun as a black hole
to come as you are,
to rocket into sweet oblivion, into
the super unknown beauty of going unplugged...
Nevermind, now
all apologies for tonight,
there is a man who is selling the world.

A poetry prompt from Poetic Asides. This one is a work in progress...something to keep playing with.

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