Never give up

Your ink,

Those Rimbaud juices.

“Give up,

Madman!”

Comes the chorus.

A public of

Devil-dreamers.

Fuckin’ witches on Cocaine.

Is there something wrong with Ethan?

For sure.

No shit, Shylock.

They want to tell me exactly what

My problem is.

Ignoring my eye bags.

Words are getting useless the

More I try to use them.

Is there something wrong with Ethan?

For sure.

Yet I can ride it like a silver wave all

The way to whichever muse will

Have me.

There are no Stars,

Only Motorcycles in the Walls.

I used Medicine,

Lilac, and Stars

In poems. Lately.

There isn’t a thing,

I can’t make into verse.

HE made me

To be a Halo.

A miniature

Sun.

Competing with hell

In this Sauna.

Had energy to dance

In the shower.

I had energy to bounce

Around my estate.

One cup of wild strawberries

Looks like a full plate.

You should disagree with

Me.

Because that’s falling out of style.

Falling down dead.

Disagree!

Be!

It’s what makes life worthwhile.

You being you.

And me being me.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton