Give up the ghost
Pour water to try to put out the sun
5:47 am, take off my glasses
Rub fingers on my face
Woke up aching, half on
And off my bed
Stretched, screaming
Awfully upon the rack
" I have pains in my heart which
Have taken my appetite "
Go bow down to Robert Johnson
Godlike
Poet extraordinare
" I have stones in my passway
And my road seems
Dark as night "
Ended up dying on his knees
Howling like a dog
A hellhound on his trail
Well I guess it finally
Caught up with him
I hear it's terrifying
Footsteps, padding, panting
Slavering, enslaving
80 years on and
Little has changed
" I have pains in my heart which
Have taken my appetite "
So, go pour buckets of rain
On the sun
Steal the moon and
Stash it in my backpack
Then run off drunkenly
Laughing
Laughing
Laughing at death
Laughing at life
What else can you do?
When there are;
Guilty lying tombstones
Obscene newspapers
Dead T.V.
The poisoned glass of whiskey
The dying mother
The weeping boyfriend
The creeping boy fiend
Drugs and alcohol
" Stones In My Passway "
Living too slow
Dying too fast
Stealing the moon
******* on the sun
The young girl beaten
And ***** in broken glass
The poisoned death
The poisoned life
5:47 am
Stretched upon the rack
I told Graff 1980, one of my favourite poets on this website that I would post a surrealistic poem
Well here it is.
I wrote it after waking up from a wierd dream, still drunk at 5 47 am.