Visiting an Old Friend

I walk across an economic class,
and reach a doorstep,
I fall in love with the shambles,
the sordid smell,
simple and silly.

The fences are so short,
and rusted,
the jungle green expresses itself,
"I am your childhood," it says
And I knew how right it was.

Inside is a mangy carpet,
the petshop grit hits me,
Dogfood, fritos,
there's a handgun on the table.
I think about Kurt Cobain,

The dude scrambles
to find some clean socks.
They have 90 cents for gas money.

The room is dark and
in dad's eyes is emptiness
like I've never seen.
A pornographic purpose,
a rape-death empty smile,
acid trips left the
prodigal progeny sad and wordless.

Then I remember Jesus of Suburbia as he busted into my life.
 I remember the Devil and how he died young and I remember his anti-ambition, and my subsequent appropriation.
God was liberation and homophobic, and I found myself falling in love with love, illusory love. How can I love a place so much?

Sometimes I feel like my life is a vacation,
or a long weekend,
and someday I'll remember whatever it was I was supposed to be doing.