Figurines and Expectations
So gracious that I was not taken
From this penultimate generation
Right as it advent
But oh oh I could have been
So deep breath in
Huhhh_whooooo000
in the blood and fantastic ooze,
of the arenas that are our souls
wailed into, our eardrums
electrically guitar
charges right mega inside
the poltergeist fuzz
and that static madness
oh yeah the sense of raging
to keep sentience to the chords,
ears slit in exactly how fast
that unleash,
the insanity
growing on puberty and
and oh how they’ll ever catch
the screaming highway nous,
ever fast diluted
majestic instruments and anthems….
oh how I could have missed more
amps and perpetual montage segments
stretched
where highlighted horizons
dawned so graceful, elongated,
appeared in the usual thin morning
and busted open over rising the sounds
in some trek of peripheral details
faintly captured into parallel effects
like the horizon whisks
as the noises all went next to each other,
strained, turned and cooked
to the mirror-like theater stage lights
reflecting as they shape faces and hairs
and yet become fearless figurines and expectations
and the frisson rifts lifted through arenas
swarms of waves ever penetrated
but to those lengths
ahhhh they get
all-encompassing in the little
over-detailed spaces
I occupied; where I would have never
heard it and maybe it would have fade
within the subcity streets;
and within hidden speakers
but but but just to stay
stay aware,
just to remain flaming into the stretches
of the enhanced tiny moments
when thee adventure finally came….
perhaps just for this place in me
of the immaculate emergence
where little draped lights blended
but beginnings
well about the music that reamed
sick bloodstreams and leaked slick chills
all surfaced form in the air
and then exit into the existence;
yea when I’d rather have been written down;
where I would rather be written
within the strength and energy, listening,
within that power crammed
and unpolished, strum, hum melodic
finding a baseline overly nostalgic, mmmaybe
#socrushmebaby_imallears
about guitar fiddles, or the pierced;
the brand new literature;
that remains in the diaphragm all day,
in the fresh spirit, in fortuitous imagination,
discovered in this loud advance of angels
in wild hair and icicles breath; within that
cold passing through nasal passages,
in the soothing all at once
in so close and so near;
in so over and over
so ensnared in-charged
(when you feel your ear hairs)
stuffed drums indescribably unique,
vamped but slow and deliberate,
fierce but gentle and intelligent,
sonic lyrics disengaging
the way teens can deeply dream
when they begin a long drive
oh yes I am so gracious
to have witnessed the alternative
cosmic accumulation
all painted over
the states
the places garages were made
for when we were just
figurines with great expectations