Hold Applause

“And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"
                                           David Byrne, Talking Heads

and you may find yourself
            seen as a #
like gov’ment issued boots or
worker B or lined-up

“take a # pls” or cast as

a tally of a bally-box or a
            series of ones no one sees

or the # everyone, ‘cept U, sees
            Except you, when you see
a radically bitchin’ chick whose
            tick has tocked
and think, no way that's moi!?
            what’s yer damage, man?

but I dig her shoes

U say, same as it ever was
            ‘cept that’s bogus

HS stoners w/ filterless camels chillin’
            across 17 steps goin’ up to
            hell ‘cept that’s bogus too
            who knew

Re-generation X supplants
            imitated but never duped
all yer O.G. concert Ts
appropriated by offspring
            same as it ever was

and you may find yourself
a phat cipher bookin’ it like Flo-Jo’s Mizunos
            burnin’ down the track,
wickedly chaste by a rock n bbbad boulder
            rollin’ up on ur totally trippin’ kicks

Only that # counts, the last issued
            it dont roll over
it gets bouldered over and when she phlat
torch nostalgia like ordnance lit by hicks
            on a scorched beach

thick with lifesmoke higher than
            droopy red-eyed
and slacked-jawed with
            unquenchable thirst

worn out and knotted shoestrings

            slinging on a wire

and sift gray ash for glimmering things
and clink glass for dead things

and smoke ‘em if you got ‘em and
            clap if you want to and
            vow to make a brief dash count
            between dis # and dat

same as it ever was
same as it ever was