The Myth

Posted: February 25, 2014 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

sid-vicious
I love the myth of rock and roll:
Nick Cave with a needle in his arm,
After scoring some speed from me.
Shane McGowan pissed off his head,
In the gutter but with his eyes on God.
Johnny Thunders OD’s one last time with his guitar by his side;
Keith Richards snorts his father’s ashes mixed with coke.
Kurt Cobain has a four hundred dollar a day habit because that’s all he could take out of his auto teller.
It’s all so glorious.
William Burroughs living to 80 off his head on smack,
Sepulchrally musing about shooting his wife in the head.
Punk Rock! Punk Rock!
Forever drunk now on the trails of you entrails.
Keep it together man.
These particles just won’t stop existing.
Do I have to get drunk to write a poem?
Or stoned and pissed or pinned?
Some would say the muse whispers madness that frees us,
From the critic hiding within.
Do I have to be out of my head on smack?
Or dead from barbiturates on a rail road track?
Do I have to believe in the Rimbaud light?
Do I die of love or die of fright?
Just put it all down and let it flow,
Let it dribble and let it go,
And all will be okay.
The same as it is in eternity,
Or any other day.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s