We need a Celine/Miller/Kerouac/Bukowski/type for this time and place. I've chosen myself for the job. What did the man say? No guts no glory? So writing poems from the gut will do. And my star is rising...

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

new neon love

white shirts
rainbows
gasoline
and
coyotes
a madman
in the city's
forest wrote
prophecies
of wisdom
wellness
and wit
when the
other
soothsayers
proclaimed
the end he
talked
of a
good god
and great
flowing
communities
full of
art
and
love

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