in puerto escondido: notions 62-63.

notion 62.

in ancient times,
the tribe danced.
today, the tribe
has scattered,
so we mosh
to crash against
one another
in hopes
of catching a glimpse
of that
ancient feeling
of which
i still have
some sort of
memory of
without having existed,
or perhaps
i always have.
at dawn,
we mosh.


notion 63.

we mosh.
we ride on.
we go on.

my generation’s song
never did belong,
and all over the continent,
kids move away,
and leave.
and leave because they can’t give.
they’re so scared
to be like mommy and daddy,
simply working
to make the company
and you?

older, sadder, lonelier, and poor.

so ride on.
we mosh.
we go on.


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