Three Chords And

REVISED from 10/19; originally from 2008 or so.

Once you were a chucked berry,
a fogerty full of sloppy chords,
a skip to my lou reed.

You got all slippery
with clean sauce. Turned down, tuned up, 
tossed out your faded paper bag

of dark wanderings. Bought into
commercial anthems that worked well
in the fluorescent aisles of big-box stores. 

Come back to your game desire.
Come back slaphappy, sharpened
for the war against plastic.

You used to have
a mouth full of splinters. Used to
honor dingbat and idiot,

all those
who broke the social charm
with a fart. Do you remember yourself?

Gas monster.
Blunt huffer.
Smoker of the right goddamn herbs.

You chased the scent
of acorn porridge, worked
Delta mysterious.

That devil in the crossroads
still valued
your willing ass.

You used to not be such
a freak for safety.
You used to not be

such a doom escape. Children
hate you more
now that you’re safer

and nearly devoid of a scrap
of care left
for your sulfur traditions.

We love some of you still,
even with your
crystal fraud hippie faking.

We love some of you still,
you wall street loving
gutterpunks.

It’s like watching
the fattest rats in the world
pretend they aren’t rabid.

Bite me.
Better yet?
Infect yourself.

Be the sick fuck we loved to love,
no matter how bad
you made us feel.