Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.

Thursday, June 25, 2009


you wanted to know didn't you
or didn't you
this is the suburbs,
dry dry dry
where you eat yr schnuck's grilled cheese
in the big house.
where you pace that chasm of big house
wondering, that crucial question
that once came the instinctual craze of a living bodily organism,
what next,
what to do,
what plan for whose body,
so you drink the cheapest whiskey beneath yr cushy bed
alone, and it is dry dry dry.
not to use analogies, but didn't john that baptist scream with locust throat out of shouting range until it was dry dry dry.
where you think of her or her or her or her and all you can do is sit in the tropical home depot built missouri backporch devoid of people or anything but unnatural birds and nuclear mosquitos and decide which her henry miller is writing about,
and across that horizon of prominent telephone wires,
theres a biker among chevy suburbans,
and goddamnit you betcha his lips are dry, dry, dry dry.

1 comment:

(open) said...

open speaking
i was conversing with reverend doctor mason bilderberg earlier and he stated that he put up some of his same old shit on some 1960's san fransisco intersection referenced blog, i can't recall the name right now. but we agreed that this poem hits on pretty much the mood of the separated souls right now, he also allowed me to add a quote the intersection-where-janice-joplin-sucked-jerry-garcia-off-one-cool-saturday-evening-in-the-middle-of-september1969's blog. it is certainly applicable to what you are describing here.

then he started on some diatribe about chemtrails and mk ultra, which sounded interesting.

p.s. when any of our friends haven't seen me in awhile, and ive been with rikshaw, they ALWAYS assume ive done some pyschoactive activity. and it makes me think of that old definition of insanity where everyone thinks a similar thing is true and your the only lonely rogue fighting that status quo and whether or not we're all a little off our fucking rockers these days and why that might be.

and then i think, why?, thats a fuckin 12-year-old's question, i know why, and im not fucking crazy.

oh shit, sorry, rev. dr. got the keyboard.

what i meant was good poem, dude.