Time to be alive

photo by Kevin Lindridge

We'll group together in the darkness and then send out a flare:
          Sound the alarm! it cries, tears and spit cast
          like fire to a casket -

          before the apocalypse, that is - and to the tune of the three
          greatest symphonies every written, left in
          stone on the steps of

          someone wise enough to copy them down and keep them.
          Until our teflon-coated wings unstick from
          the pavement, consider

          our home a prison. The joyful noises you hear from the
          basement sound out in protest, stand-up guys
          who only mean to send

          a message, not to burn the whole place down at the drop
          of a lighter emblazoned with silver expletives
          stolen from a harder age.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Neutral Milk Hotel, Two-Headed Boy