Waste of breath/gonzo ride along/__
It’s mid November & no one in a Guy Fawkes mask has shown up
To relieve the tyrannical tongues
Keeping time with robber barons & drama queens
Everywhere around these parts is bat country
Where could anyone stop
It’s 2 a.m.
There’s a savage throng of dream-thirsty creatures lingering nearby
They seek the drama of all who live intermingling stories like
Mutant children of the damned
Our fluorescent neon signs of
Our lives radiating the corruptible
Surges of despair’s playground
This is what we make
Of the paradise made
Lost maddening trenches of
Human debris crushing the living dream of future hope
While riding along with the wild
Scatterbrain shaman
For the trip never realizing
We wasted the breath
Always moving forward with or w/o our consent__
Sitting at the edge of Big Clifty Falls
Singing to Nature & muses
The leaves are mostly gone aside from the conifers
Their dull green against the mid November sky reminds me
Of GNR’s November Rain
When a few feet away from me
Hovering in mid air listening
To my song was the Spirit
Of the age
Like a radiant golden sparrow
Shining there
For an instant
& It was gone
Just like the ages
& Time
Always moving forward
With or without
Our consent
Jim Morrison’s cock ring of death__
So I’m at this mediocre kegger
Getting rowdy with the youth gone wild
And I’d been dancing and chatting all
Night with this long-legged blonde
Beauty named
Lemonade Lucy
She wants to go upstairs
But I’m so fucked up there’s
No erection
We almost give up when a guy out of nowhere
Comes out of the bathroom into the bedroom and says he’s got what my
Cock needs
Lucy and I both laugh not down with a threesome
When he produces a very brightly shining golden ring
And says I’m sure to have perfect arousal with Jim Morrison’s cock ring
He says he’ll sell it to me for whatever I got in my pockets
So I give him .69 cents, a pocket knife
And two ticket stubs to the last
AC/DC concert before they weren’t a band anymore
He said perfect
Now as I float here
Watching the paramedics try to revive my super alcohol poisoned naked body that is
only wearing a brightly shining golden cock ring
Supposedly Jim Morrison’s
I realize
It had to be the rock God’s cock ring
How else would a motherfucker
Fuck himself to death with only Jim Beam in their system
Also the realization comes that I will forever be drifting around the other side
Naked except Jim Morrisons
Cock ring
Merritt Waldon is a poet/artist who has been published in a wide variety of magazines/journals, and has four books published. He has devoted his entire life & being to Poetry. He lives in Austin, Indiana.