Hunter S. did Gonzo journalism. I do Gonzo poetry.

END OF DAYS-DREAMING

I cured the cancer
by taking the lumps
one slump at a time
by making my worst nightmare
a soul mate
with her own crimes as soft
as chewed meat
snaking down to this chicken's gizzard
aged a decade
in twenty days
living on harvested
black market organs
like rusty pipes
in a Montreal church

Everything delightful
is sacrilege again
and even Nostredamus
could not have seen this madness
for badness

Make it new!
the modernists cried
but to make it old
is golden
make it tried and trusted
make it stubborn and crusted
as barnacles on a sunken ship
gnarled as an old maid's claw
Aye, there's the draw
for dreams so dusty
they congest the senses
even in the daylight
for scars so merciless
they eclipse the pain
of fresh wounds weeping
as they take flight
towards their backdrop
of gritty Meridian plateaus

I cannot be broken
any more than molten mettle
under the anvil's hammer
best to make it sharp and clean
to serve within your favour
to mark your blood against the grain
of everything you envy

or make victims of us all