The creation rebels roll notepads in t-shirt
sleeves and bounce to Fela Kuti in the gravel
lot, just mad dawgs in the midday producing
the kind of lunacy that draws police
and thieves and persecution.
The rebels jitter and twist, head bobbin'
not jobbin' or robbin'
but probin' the land they love for frog belly
softness 'cause they know dissent is a step
in gettin' what's got to go
to go.
Yeah, you read that right.
Yeah, it's possible to dress in no logo,
you pass, you prance, you secondhand it,
you grift the system to show it what it's missin'.
So the rebels poke antlers into flesh and smush jellybeans
onto gunracks and prance like there's no tomorrow.
This dance is all about now . . .
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