of the punks
skank anymore
at the killer
sorts of shows you
now go to;
the tallest and
brawniest ones you can observe,
are all a little
too busy—rebelliously clawing
and pawing
at the screens of huge smartphones,
back and forth, through
several dozen
fiercely different variations
on the very same
ultrasound photo
in the dark—clumped together
as ever,
in their confrontational-
ly close ranks, which are now
instinctively congregated
underneath most hardcore
ceiling fan in the place—its
proximity to those heady motherfuckers
up on stage be god-
damned.
