distort-.
drumstick-madness. they may
call us the crazy fucks.
midnight magic- and we're mindless.
tied down by cords and words.
mic in hand. metaphorical maniac
is what one said about me. and the boys
sing my words like we're already famous.
wake the neighbors. they need to hear
this wisdom- that spills from the amplifiers.
like soundwave-spraypaint.
and graffiti tag lines.
guitar strings strangling meanings from the screaming
erupting from my throat. I want to be
my words. as the bass beats twice as hard
as my heart. tripping streamlined whispers
and we sing.
yes we sing.
sweat dripping. the feedback roars.
and I mouth- fuck the misbelievers. this is heaven.
and we break silence like we're famous.
tonight.
we- scream.
that this. is. our.
[freedom]
© 2007 Jon Rodgers
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/98/93429 on Wednesday October 08th, 2008 05:50 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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