The rawkus bands boast
of being back
and in black.
Like somehow this

confers some strange authority.

It’s like a mantle they don,
and they are infused
with some strange reckless power
and become “more than”

in electronic banshee screams.

But I am different…back in black
because I was knocked there,
nine ways to Sunday.
Kicked back into shrouds

and disabused of slipper notions.

And yeah, I am back…in black,
and weeping over Rama
My, my, hey hey, and Neil Young
and Rust and Burnout

and back…in black.