Memoriam H. S. Thompson
I made your former attorney G PHD
, without your specific knowledge,
the godfather of my cat.
And America, land of identifying citizenry as little more than fetishist plastic.
No more watchdogs of such bespectacle.
No more significant hardening of the nutsack at such bespectacle. No more vinegar in the eyes, salted wounds, toothy handshakes or deaf stares at this bespectacle.
No saintly sot to pipe militant affiliate sots further into the muse, so oblivio,
H.M.S. Thompson we commit you to the sea
but be assured you left us dancing against reddening backdrops of infected media whores in full frenzy. Dancing with the jagged toothed and the blunt eared as they once spun and spun such dazzle so these desperate pigs suckled overlong on wilted tits of all the rusted machinery of a once favorable dream.
|a long moment ago dismissed the notion of independent movement prose poetry editorial art & photo submissions|