music
has always
been life
to me

i grew up
in the car
with the
classic station
the only companion
in the cavernous
rear bench seat

or in those
poorly lit bars
dinghy neon
a small light
over a bust of
jfk and maybe
jesus as well
and the flashing
lights of the
juke box

i remember
my first walkman
with hard flat
headphones
covered in
itchy black foam
listening to
prince on repeat
the beastie boys
and everything else
i could find

shoplifting from
kmart because money
wasn’t part of
the equation
and rushing home
to sit in the dark
while the music
washed the loneliness
away in subsonic bliss

hundreds of shows
and a lifetime later
nothing has changed
except the band names
while i love
hip hop and punk
there is magic
in nearly every genre
from ryo fukui
tinkling the ivories
to the amazing seventies
brazilian funk bands
old hank williams
to frank zappa and
his mothers of
invention

i adore living
in a world which spawned
sylvia and hank
maya angelou
corso, ginsberg, and kerouac
but for my money
joey ramone, aesop rock
and david bowie
reinvigorated poetry
the lyrics of nofx
or sage francis
bleed as beautifully
as any ode penned
by a pretentious poet

the only thing
better than writing
a perfect line
is hearing a song
resonate with
my very being
knowing there is
nothing new which
someone has yet
to experience
even when it all
feels so singular