Spirit Of ‘77

I wanna move like Johnny—

here and there and everywhere,

with the thunder jetting down around—

there’s a little bit of heartbreaker

in this little boy.

I wanna watch it burn like Richard—

add a little of my own hell

to the smoldering mess

we’ve gladly gotten ourselves into,

just so I can deny it like Tom—

Accidental Arsonist.

 

I wanna take chances like James—

with sharp, well-dressed abandon.

No wave too big to drown in.

No sir.

 

I long to care like Strummer—

to conquer the world with a troubadour’s voice

and a roguish set of morals

you can’t help but envy and respect.

“Show me the way to the gutter,”

I’ll say,

poet’s pen in hand,

princely placing my pauper’s tophat upon my head.

(Is it in Clash City? Is that in California?)

 

I guess I’ll live life my way,

or at least “my way” like Sid—

off-key, heroin sheik of the oft-killed heroes

and conquerors of boredom.

(Is my necktie on proper, Mr. Curtis?)

I got a girl like Nancy—

she fits my fancy,

but it ain’t nothin’ that weren’t there

before.

 

Emilyn says there’s no such thing

as a punk poet.

Perhaps she’s right—

everybody knows we can’t read.

Composed 2007 in Oakland, California (Ap-Gnar Island, to be precise).