Ode to the ’90s

mist of rhythm guitar and dial up
off the grid   punk rap plaid
radio cranked up like the sun
machine or actual drums
my angst is still young
and highly flammable
something interrupted
meant to be read out of order
one chord change to another
feels like a lifetime like
doors creaking on their hinges
mosh pit melting pot
stock photography model
crying in movie theaters
femme fatale escapes
flames or extinguishes them
makes you feel   a rose growing
take a picture    fast as you can
does the toxic green in music videos
mimic mountain dew or the shade
of trembling leaves  
the economy  
a woman
a woman I said
song fading slowly like daybreak

In the Shell

the actress says her character is
living a very unique experience
she is a human brain
in an entirely machine body
essentially identity-less

which came first
the ghost or the shell

some replacement chips
for elbows and shoulders
a machine brain can’t produce tears
but the human body feels every pixel
of the neon green city

it’s easy to find robots
ghosts not so much

Poem for Chris Cornell

my headphones busted
a week after your death
left bud filled with static
like rain along the coast
Limo Wreck

the Superunknown track
I played the least at 13
I now repeat
the title seemed funny
but heavy I now realize

metaphor for lateral damage
not just hierarchy
towers and cars
red
and blue

E string brought down
until guitar becomes bass
wheels no longer spinning
chords slash my ear
back to life

and the wreck of me
is not the same
as the wreck that was
the tear and the crease
under my eye

*

when you killed the robin
that broke its neck
against the glass
not seeing its reflection
did the brick

nearly the same shade
as the red orange breast
kiss the skull
crack it open
like an eggshell

and did you sit
like a stone
as you continued
writing Like Suicide
birds flying

your high shriek
and low groan
so far apart they could never meet
even the sun couldn’t save you
stars crashing in the sky