Whateverpalooza
Nineties music is all crunch and grind–
granola and iron and the fine dotted line
of the edge of a razor blade.
It is a shrug in the cold. It is an old soul
that remembers and opens the battered doors
of young energy and mourning.
It is earthtones, true, with maybe one or two
bold colors– gold and concrete, violet
and tweed and a pocket watch.
It is time passing and threadbare flannel
and sincere aching for a world out of reach
and the irony of artful uncaring.
All emotion and boot leather and street
names remembered and hard weather and
what is better than what is here?
Patched as it is, and mismatched and cobbled
together, even if it’s the question no one
can or cares to attempt to answer.
It is the tapestry of hope and broken hearts,
the woven home of pirates and sprites, poets
and dusty romantics, madmen and saints.
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