Boombox.

Boombox
Boombox
Boom
Box.

He walks like Alfred Prufrock
He talks like Johnny two socks
And mocks the living
And the dead
And having said
These words
I feel at one with the absurd
This expanding spandex universe
Where the living want designer hearses
And the rotting don't care.
Where when the morning sings
or the night spreads wing
we're too busy
stroking
egos
night
and day
Flapping lips
with nothing to say
Cracking whips
From other days
When men were men
who roared
and squawked
now bored
but talk
the most inane shit.
I want a war
A battle
A fight to find some ragged soul
or failing find a rattle.

We were dead before the living started.
Motionless and broken
Gentle hearted.
We were dead before the living started.

Boom
Box.

I need new shoes
and socks
and hues
and words to ignite the blood
that I know flows inside
All glistening and quiet.
It's time to start a fucking riot.