'Tryna get to sunny Californy' -
Boom. It's the awful raincoat
making me look like a selfdefeated self-murdering imaginary gangster, an idiot in a rueful coat, how can they understand my damp packs - my mud packs -
„Look John, a hitchhiker'
„He looks like he's got a gun underneath that I. R. A. coat'
'Look Fred, that man by the road' „Some sexfiend got in print in 1938 in Sex Magazine' –
„You found his blue corpse in a greenshade edition, with axe blots'
this dude a, straight at this poetry and cant even write a haiku write smh
bro frfr my teacher is making me analyze this dude and he cant even write poetry
inebriated the heart the coat is rounding on air whirling the stinky body and shouting- Helloooooo- take me away with you! where? this near! where? ? here! where? ? ? look at my eyeball! look at my eyeball! look at my eyeball! is this your face at there? I live its near! ! ! !
Maybe Jack imagined up this kind of scenario every time he hitchhiked himself. Maybe he wore a funny looking coat and when someone slowed down had a brief flash of story. Some men jumping out of a beat up truck and advancing on him. Jack traveled all over the states and saw many different people some insane no doubt, others plain cruel. These could've been legitimate thoughts he had. Probably short lived as the driver revealed himself to be friendly and harmless. Short lived or not, a thought, a story, is still very much real and a source of inspiration.
Just like on the road. Out of a drug-addled mind flows wisdom and whimsy galore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Jack, the WEED is good for writing, NOT the LSD...