poem: post-grunge

imagine being, cockroach, in the truck cab, they say
jump u jump, they say riot u riot. white-ass white-out
tundra of the far out, you can drive and drive and
drive out here, son. can’t sell out if you never blazed out,
never proclaimed godhood or artistry. the radio has
bloody teeth, girls still like sucking nubs. the men in
the studio say your someday is now we can’t have another
torturedbabygod blowing brains you have a writers room
magazine spread full life span. girls at home like
sucking nubs. here is the land of my childhood, laid out
laid out, and we stream through it, people in the cities
cry but not for the way we want.