johnsonboy

As a poet, the best thing is to lie in the mud
where you're a stranger and try to guess
what might be safe to eat or drink

or count your boss's daughter's tattoos
some dank night, stoned as an outlaw
with your guns on the floor

or plant bombs in golfballs
like seeds of the Revolution
with your pirate buddies

or walk through small towns in the woods,
far apart, when the place is deserted,
stealing underwear

or break bottles of milk on back porches
in some fifties throwback tv village
where they suspect nothing of the type

or smoke big fat bombers
down at the police station
like a hooligan

or bravely go about naked
on the light rail, acting like you don't get
what all the fuss is about

or buy sex toys
on the internet
with your mother's credit card

or go into Schwarzenegger's office
and unzip your human suit
like the space alien you are

or gamble with devils in a cheap apartment
while taking phone calls from hookers
and shooting heroin mixed with speed

or smoke heavier
drink harder
and eat more red meat

or steal cars from the police state
and take joy rides with abducted hotel maids
performing lap dances in the back seat

or free the detainees of Guantanamo
like an avenging superhero
able to unhinge any gate

or turns guns into flowers
planted in military graveyards
and piss on the machinery

or draw the map of your subconscious
in black marker at the supermarket
and sell your dreams two for the price of one

or swim upriver
beating your head against the rocks
and shivering through time

or walk as far as you can go in one direction
without turning or answering any questions