ode to those hippy boys

yeah you know who
you are
the ones with the hair
and bare feet
always dancing
in the middle of the room
not even on shrooms
that's what i like
it's kinda freaky
that you don't seem to care
just smile at those
those suddenly bizarre rules
to dress, to behave
i slave to convention
avoid pretension
and assert individuality
at pre-determined intervals
in a crowd

you like to dress
up/down
in revealing self-referential regalia
paraphernalia
signs and symbols of the resistance
your persistent candour
expands me

oh dear
there it is
this dangerous line
just thrown out there
i'm caught unprepared
my response is scared
if you were near me
i could be
free
from judgement
for a while
forget about style,
critical eye and snide remarks
forget image, deficiency, the marks of limit
in that whole you are what i could never be thing
in that i'll redeem myself through you because you will see the real
me
whatever that is
i play a part, its obvious to see the distinction
the wig comes off and my face falls
unscripted, i'm mute
but not for you
you are fused
wired
ostensibly inspired
i can borrow that
inflate myself with your passion
you're my wild streak
my hippy freak
my disgust
and salvation

record

you know the drill
the usual
the cliche, hackneyed turn of phrase
old record
broken record
flip it, reverse it
turn off, tune out
make that needle
skip
make it dance
scratch
the surface
the skin
to let something in
see there it goes again
seeping in
infecting
always lurking at the edges
ready to jump in
hijack
crash into an ivory tower
thousands of lame metaphors
die, burn, jump
but we'll still watch it
we'll still keep reading
about bleeding casualties
enumerated injuries
the hurt, the scars, the pain
that same old refrain
as we try in vain
to change
the record