Now

for Edgar Allan Poe

and the post-Parnassian poets and my girlfriend and me

Me down in Θεσσαλονίκη

((the)salloniki)

sittin on the back of a truck

whistling Psappho to myself,

you can tell I am suicidal

was it not for the booze

and the ladies

offering sweet poison

on the wet petals

of their longing lips.

So, it is hard for me to come down,

but it is easy, too.

I am travelling North

to promised paradise.

Sittin on a back of a truck humming Ginsburg’s Sunflower Sutra to myself,

listening to Willie Dixon’s I am the blues

hungover whatever. I just indeed

fuckit, wanna make love to you now.

I am sinking in

maybe i overdid

the other stuff

you can tell I am suicidal

was it not for the booze

and the ladies

offering sweet poison

on the wet petals

of their longing lips.

So, it is hard for me to come down,

but it is easy, too.

I am travelling North

to promised paradise.

Sittin on a back of a truck humming Ginsburg’s Sunflower Sutra to myself,

listening to Willie Dixon’s I am the blues

hungover whatever. I just indeed

fuckit, wanna make love to you now.

I am sinking in

maybe i overdid

the other stuff

the other stuff is what

you never gonna get.

  1. Freedom

thanks to Adam Smith and Jimmy Page and Sheryl Crow

(and Robert Plant)

and the fucking nice piano man. Even if you can’t hear him, I can hear him well.

(Van Halen’s D’accord:

starts at 01:16: http://youtu.be/McV7pjwVFbE )

Oh god, I’m gonna have a hard time

stepping out of the graveyard to make it back to town

poor Roy hanged himself.

whatever. march on.

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