364/365

feels so right in the moment
clutching the mic stand like an anchor:
a jump, a headbang, a thrust
total freedom like in your room
at eight, ten, twelve, eighteen, twenty four
and so on and so on. a bottle of wine
at your feet and enough songs in your throat
to warrant applause. the little voice, gone
from your head, under the lights: the one
asking the obvious questions: am i good enough?
will they like me? is this cool or pathetic: us
up here, missing fifty, playing rock stars.

there are moments- eyes closed, spinning,
riding the bassline, drum beat pounding, searing
quitar solo, when you let go and quiet the voice,
there is no play acting, there is no doubt. only
a fierce freedom too hot not to trust. there is no
choice but to let yourself burn and sing. a voice
committed to rock and roll in a small room to a small
crowd will always be a beautiful thing.

316/365

punk rocker hippie,
rock and roller,
long haired head banger,
awkward authority figure
rebellious rabble rouser,
tattooed, hands in pocket
swaying lead singer
curriculum writer.
apathetic ambitious
change maker.

weakened weekend
head ache take it to the
next level. nothing else
matters, nothing
else ever will.

285/365

click clack
type writer.
vinyl grooves.
denim corduroy
seventies hues.
les paul sunburst
born to wrong tunes.

don’t turn your back
on the recklessness of youth.
the wide eyed promises
of rock and roll
might not fit as well
around the waist
and waddled throat.
chipped black nail polish.
smeared eye liner,
broken reflections
of dreams barely had.

a candle in a wine bottle
and hand made shoes.
roots exposed
through bleach.

it all seems silly
in the rearview
unless we’re
driving in a loop.

134/365

we played music
tonight,
rock and roll.
complying with the laws,
keeping everyone safe.
bass. drums. guitars. me.
not sure how to be the front man,
when everyone is finally staring at me,
jump around. bang the tambourine.
stare off into the lights.
belt out the chorus.
ignore the looks.
don’t make eye contact.
make eye contact,
you’ve seen how it’s done
your whole life,
grab that microphone
and let out everything
that’s inside you.
we played music
tonight,
rock and roll.

71/365

it took forever to get a cab.
we played rock and roll music all night
but we were all a little off
i couldn’t hit the notes.

started with:
a beer,
a martini,
two island iced teas,
and a bottle of wine.
a few whiskeys afterwards.

it took forever to get a cab.

listened  to neil young—
    see the lonely boy, out on the weekend
    trying to make it pay
    can't relate to joy, he tries to speak and
    can't begin to say.

and lady gaga—
    turning up emotional faders
    keep repeating self-hating phrases
    i have heard enough of these voices
    almost like I have no choice.

and phoebe bridgers—
    walking scott street, feeling like a stranger
    with an open heart, open container
    i’ve got a stack of mail and a tall can
    it's a shower beer, it's a payment plan.

i was bold and weak.
sure and empty.
the front man and the wallflower.

it took forever to get a cab.
we played rock and roll music all night