The labyrinth of memories  calls from the earth
There has been no death and no birth
Lives just flowing on in a loop
Doing laps in the primordial soup
Reach for self-exploration
Look beyond your self and find the foundation
Discover the workings of the universe
So marvelous and diverse
Everything is connected
All things effected
Love holds everything together

Not less because in purple I descended
The western day through what you called
The loneliest air, not less was I myself.

What was the ointment sprinkled on my beard?
What were the hymns that buzzed beside my ears?
What was the sea whose tide swept through me there?

Out of my mind the golden ointment rained,
And my ears made the blowing hymns they heard.
I was myself the compass of that sea:

I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw
Or heard or felt came not but from myself;
And there I found myself more truly and more strange.

Poetry is poking through the ashtray
for the lost word I spit away
on the the last cigarette to make sure it was out
(because I sicken from smoke of burning cellulosic filters,)
distracted, tapping another growing ash
into a glass I'll surely sip from later
It'll cough out dry and chalky
from my fingers
they all go to the same place -
whiskey, cigarettes, words -
and presume to have meaning
when it's late,
making a game of speeding clocks
until they're bored and stagger home
to their closet under the stairs,
leaving me to wash their empty glasses
and sweep off the dusty pretensions
they've left on my desktop,
wishing I'd gone to bed earlier
or repotted some geraniums instead.

It was  at the crack of the afternoon always  when like some old circus bear i staggred to life.
Coffee surged through my veins with a touch of turkey to embrace the day to day troubles
with a sense of reason in the insanity.

The whispers were heavy like gunshot's that filled a early morning duck hunt.
Where half drunk men shared bottles and stories of conquest's some false others just straight *******.
He's losing it ya know?

They had read my scrbblings and saw the flaws yet dared never to speak the words to
the devil in the flesh.
But much like a villan or a dam good ****** with a std i was just waitting to
run yet again.

The Gonzo of old died hard and a writer of insanity
seldom was at a loss for words or  far from a intersection of trouble.
The road called.
And I her slave seldom ignored her for any woman worth her salt
was a cruel ***** at heart and thats what made them  so dam aluering.


I was the president of debauchrey the chairman of the boy's club
a locker room jester who seldom showed his flaws.
But time scars us all and I was no diffrent.

I had slowed yet went past that edge like a child who tears into a gift seldom
looking at the paper let alone who its from.
Still that gleam in the eye did exist and the danger was all but to real.

I was ready to claim it back although none could take it from me.
The bike was older yet still had a howl like a devils hound on a sunsets promise.
the drugs the ***** the women all where but part of the drive and freedom
of a perk.

Much like the whiskey that burns in my veins id never
water down my word's
Cold wether was pointing me south  the Key's were calling
in a tragic Hemmingway sense the old man's sea was but a bitter pill
and a islands stream of erased thought.

On a road that never grew old as I.
  Soon i was off.
And God only knows what would lead to this tour of destruction.
But all i can say is gentlemen start your engines.

For the chaos has just begun.

                                               Welcome  To The Boy's Club
                                                             Part One

There once was a people who found the ground much too hard,
so they grew their city from the sky.
In it, they basked in the Sun's rays,
as they hung all the hues of the blues, the greens, and the greys.
But, sadly, no one sees them much anymore these days,
because when your grow your city from the sky,
it can be washed away with the rain.