Punk Poems

I.

Just trying to
survive the day on words
we know our fathers
would never say

like

“I’m proud of
you son, without
condition,
despite the
consequence
and

without
shame.

Go on
and make a mistake
worth fixing, find yourself
some dreams worth
living.

I’ll be
forgiving no matter
how far you
stray from
home.”

II.

Faux-hawk romance and
dreadlocked
happenstance led us
to the fed-up version of
star-crossed lovers beneath
unblinking summer
skies,

and I would
die the happiest man if you just
let me have your hand in mine
a bit longer than
the standard night

watching drunken
couples fight over
forty ouncers until

the hours
remember yesterday’s
first light
and aim
to replicate it.

III.

Dying campfires are an
acquired taste
but they
make us
live for the moment.

Tomorrow is
just too
long to
wait.

IV.

And in the mosh pits of
conflicted hearts you’ll
find what’s

mine is yours and
what’s
yours makes
mine

humbled in
comparison,

in one
thousand ways leather
jackets and
rum

(fun as
they are)

never could.

V.

This is who I am;
a punk at heart, and the
siren song my
sneakers
kick start like engines
always in our possession
plays on repeat.

At a point,
my ignition lacked
a genuine key.

At the bleachers on
empty football fields in the
third row where we
finally
closed the deal,

baby,

your revolutions per
minute are
all my
songs were
missing.

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4 thoughts on “Punk Poems

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