Despite the violent oscillation
of our heads, some of us punks were able
to half-wonder: what will become of us?
That caricature motto, “No Future,”
begs certain questions in the aftermaths.
Crocus Behemoth blew our minds often,
mad head warbling a la climaxing teen;
and better than those sound-scrapes, his bitter
perspective conveyed diagonally
convinced us of our own foresight as punks.
But bands split up. A crash time-stopped D. Boon.
Pop culture punks bit the dust on drugs (yawn)
while other artists coupled and had kids,
went to sew the sutures of middle age…
Crocus took up the accordion, whined
on about himself, swimming past his art
and the girlfriends that came and went with it.