90's ...................... this is the 90's dank can't deal not really poetic this much heartache the memory is flight of idols a letter to alyosha temporary zealot some other faith God's last act blown mr. buddha candent this stale, old moon writing one more poem bravefart cohenesque freeway godzilla gripes and grunts typical not topical time is a piece of wax strand spirit wholly... make yourself public language is a virus jsut dop it the last festival unfailed untitled loose strings my altar monday's wanting figures in my rum what my father thinks stream of something    current | 90's | japan this is the 90s I get up out of bed and I put on my leaving eyes. The houses and shops will not be the same. The people I smile at will be dead corpses the next time we meet. I lean in close and smell you while you're still sleeping. The T.V. is on from my late-night searching for God and amusement and sex and life. Images still flicker in my brain. I do not know what this move will make. "Are you excited?" people ask. "Are you looking forward?" I say, "This is the 90's. We are post-everything." I don't know what that means or maybe I do, but people leave me alone after that. I am sad and tired and I cannot see the sun. What does this or that place mean? One town is usually just as good as any other and all the fundamental crap still applies. I don't like this America we came back to, but I don't know what else there is. I don't like the way things are going, but I don't know what else. I just put on my leaving eyes, lean in, smell you and shrug. We are post-everything.