Too many punks
But only in the aesthetically pleasing sense
Bought their shirts at the 5 & Dime
Along with safety pins
& commercially foraged tattoos
(Can we discuss how punk’s not supposed to be safe?)
Where’s the independence?
Where’s the penchant to damn the man?
Find your sovereign spirit
For no one’s really punk
Until everyone thinks they’re uncool
Too many loud souls/When silence will do
Fools too busy collecting trophies & stickers
Not focused on truth of what matters
Sneaking glimpses of soul-revealing knickers
But they’re plastic; not of a proper diet
A mere aesthetic for the internet’s sake
The superficial appetites of modern times
I long for days when passions weren’t fake
Somewhere there is something incorruptible
Something pure that we might know
To purge our lives of superfluous antics
To feel a little more real & a little less faux
Watching the paper soak up errant coffee
Spillage; correcting the bland, empty page
Blocked before you wasted the elixir of life
Words summoned now like a pensive sage
Freely letting loose a volley of images
We are released to our new mode of narration
Blinded aesthetics on a crisp winter morning
Forever allowed to remain alive in short bursts of inspiration
Listening to Wollstonecraft on the radio
“Don’t turn that dial!”, that’s what the DJ said
Not tied to any system; I’m still analog
I’m dangerous; so the advertisers pled
Hereditary responsibility to the common good
Therefore I don’t believe what I’ve been taught
I see y’all got opinions, from your suburban thrones
& these school systems regurgitating corporate rot
Criminal malpractice leaves us with poor examples
But we’ve seen far worse on both sides of the aisle
Bribing the lowest common denominator for votes
Rewrite history, but perhaps that’s not in your files
I’ve been cast off, labeled a subversive heretic
But I’m easy – so I’m doing my best to unlearn
To unwind these falsehoods they tried to entrench
The slow burn; time to take candor for a turn
Rash choices based upon juvenile aesthetics
The understanding that we all might partake
Though one must know speaking the truth too loud
Turns into testimony & they might burn us all at the stake
She was enraged
But it was merely an aesthetic
Undiagnosed shakedown calamity
Her stare leaving me cold & pathetic
She asked me why I was a Pisces
I told her I used to drink like a fish
Though attempts at humor fell flat
I was awkward; she was such a dish
I’m not as spectacular as I may seem
Age filters vexing characteristics instead
She looked upon me with curious disdain
Tangibly conceding to the voices in my head
Captain Q 