by David Pratt
“All my life, my heart has sought a thing I cannot name.”
― Hunter S. Thompson, Hell’s Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga
February snow piles up,
Arctic winds howl down,
Settle in the bone.
Outside the kitchen window
A peacock’s call stalls in the frozen air
Cut short by a sharp report.
Like a book dropping . . .
You horrible bastard.
Too weird to live in fear,
Too rare to die in loathing,
You took the ride to the high-water mark,
And from atop the snowy mountain
Sounded your barbaric shaman’s yawp:
“Some may never live, but the crazy never die.”