A POEM BY JASON LABBE
Basement Tapes
We descended into the glow
of Christmas lights,
into humidity & sheer volume.
Feedback & the snare’s crack
repelled imposters & broke the spell
of drunken fathers & morning bells.
Bodies shook into
the shape of a body raised
on fashionable manifestos
not meant to decode. Our abstract tattoos
deemed old-style self destruction
(pills & needles)
a disproved & dated
strike against
the daylight economy.
We bragged of smashing select windows.
We were out to prove
you could go to school & still refuse
the future with xerox vision:
kitschy clip art
of domestic scenarios & blown-up
industrial schematics:
graphics for show posters
we stuck up strategically.
Handbills proclaimed six bands back-to-back
A Call to Action!
Jet-black & bone-white,
cut & paste
was our exacto-fashion.
A few tattered flyers & grainy
black & white blurs
are the only proof to back up the lore
of a scene
& sound—
neither new-wave nor second-wave,
never no-wave,
maybe the last wave…
You had to be there…
Approaching dawn it wasn’t light
we feared,
but exposure.
A summer of sets—of sweat—
lost to tinnitus,
overwhelmed with static,
recorded live to a stereo deck & copied
  onto cheap cassettes—
coveted dubs distort
before
they wear out & break.
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Jason Labbe has poems appearing or forthcoming in American Letters &
Commentary, CROWD,
Barrow Street,
Absent, Indiana Review, and the 2008
Outside Voices Anthology of Younger Poets, among other venues. Visit him at
www.studyinblue.com.
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