It wasn't about not bathing
or drying our hair into twigs.
We wanted to hear mortality
in the opening notes of "Today."
Like the paraplegic at the free
Smashing Pumpkins show
who body surfed in his wheelchair,
head banging a path to the stage,
our generation swimming in sky.
So we drove our nights deep into
the suburbs, treating the stars
like fireworks. And, lacking cows
but not clouds, we tipped over
port-o-johns while singing:
I can't wait for tomorrow.
I might not have that long.
That boy became our legend
as Billy Corgan held him on stage,
the wheelchair swallowed below,
sweat and wind washing us clean.