Vintage was what mom bought on
sale from wal-mart, and the way
we wore it was grunge.
We knew what teenage spirit
smelled like and didn’t give
a shit about what you thought
about how it smelled.
There were no consequences
to smoking pot in an aluminum
foil pipe because you could
crush it when you were high enough.
Garage bands meant instant
stardom no matter how far
away Seattle was- crank the
distortion and rattle the foundation.
Innocence was biking to the grocery
store for more mountain dew then
pressuring friends into shoplifting
condoms, which would quickly be
tossed in the parking lot garbage can.
Summer bombs in the backyard
meant boyhood not terrorism.
Weekends up late for Bevis & BH
then Pinfield’s head-bangers ball.
Foreplay in the White House was
fun, if you didn’t get caught; but
without internet, who really cares.
Some rich kids computers looked like
microwaves and stealing their TI-eighty
something calculators were
worth one good app.
Melancholically the ought’s brought
post-punk, artificial intelligence, and
prevailing winds of an eternal post-life.
post-punk, artificial intelligence, and
prevailing winds of an eternal post-life.
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