Lighting bolt crashes my bedroom
in the October night,
I'm gonna die soon
head off to that big hole in the sky
better read a few books before I go,
hear some music, make some loving,
get high, get lost , get Gogh , paint
me a wall with yellow flowers,
take myself to the house of love,
the Taj Mahal, drink the Ganga,
smoke some Ganga, knock on Shams
door and say, hey man, where the fuck
have you been all these years,
man the barricades , throw a few tyrants
out by their testicles, drink sangria
till I burst, cry for the sunrise,
laugh for the sunset
dance trance on a full moon night,
howl at my neighbours ,
read HOWL again, tonight is the night
I run bare assed through Euroa's
streets, backflips and cartwheels,
listen to Toumani Diabate
as I fake swimming in our local
river, barrack for Collingwood,
hmm maybe that's a stretch too far,
read Thomas Wolfe
you can never go home
again and again.
Hi Ken... That's one bucket list there. Yeah the Pies could be too far (only for the die hards:) anyway I really noticed this poem and loved the break-neck rhythm as it rolled out like a train for me.
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