junkyard poetry

passing by my old school
makes me feel old
we were the children of the revolution
buying youth coulture
on glossy magazine covers
we shaped our misfit-selves
to pass the test
how to be revolutionary
too young to be contemporary
we couldn't wait to leave home
looking for a group of our own
trying to make it into the scene
trying to join the scheme
where are you now?
I don't know how but we
made it out alright









later that day:
1.
he had a never ending supply
of new dirty jokes
you could know him a life time
and never hear him tell the same joke twice
he could drink a bottle of whiskey
and barely even slur
he lived in a house off the main road
they turned of the electricity
so he kept to the living room
he wrote a suicide note
on the back of a lottery ticket
I hope you win,
I'm crossing my fingers
how come we never knew
where he learned to tie a noose


2.
he liked to tell dirty jokes
kept a snare in his backyard
he could drink a bottle of whiskey
and barely even slur

she dressed like a humble bee
cause she liked the way they fly
you could touch your thumb with your forefinger
around her anorexic arm

my sister came home
to find me on the bed
next to empty bottles
of anti-depressants and sleeping pills

where's the womb
where such desperation arose
where's the seed
of so much pain and so little hope