The Ooo

O they assumed
the kids were alright

o they believed

I was just talkin’
’bout my generation

o they really didn’t know
what it was

to be the bad man

O they were terrified
of a teenage wasteland

o it had really

been too long
since they did the stroll

0 too much time

had passed since
they first believed in

rock n’ roll
O they never were amazed at

the way it pulled them
out of time

o it didn’t really move
much faster

a rollercoaster

I Don’t Call It Anything

Beyond this melting
point an allusive

pall of evasive
concatenations,

the propelling
tyrannical rhythms

betwixt foreboding
and botanical schisms,

accumulating to what?

An era-inspecific
terminus engorged

on those enfeebled;

A hummed about
science or license

for this

used demotic opacity’s
standard predation?

Volume (Familiar)

Messages from gen-
ocide fastened hands

a time turning a way
no, never to forgive

plan, plan to say
in·com·men·su·rate

nights, nights over
remains;

stolen, no located.