Remembering Gonzo Journalism

A true Walden pond,
Slashed roads that break beyond.
We light a Philly XL;
Cut and filled with ganja and ale.

Lack of concern,
No pity and no pain.
Lack of emotion,
What a laugh to call it
A shame.

Filled to the brim with
Whisky and rye,
A burning blunt misting the ride.
Laughter that can’t hide smiles,
Chopped lines
Sparkle like flowers.

Not a care in the world;
Who cares, and no food from chores?
Whatever, now more on to more;
The opiates that came from the chores.

Pop four, then take five more;
Crush the last one to share for.
Bad vibes sweep the room,
Never intended to pay the check only
To leave so soon.

Stumbling through town again
Because of the hallucinogens,
Really, there’s no such thing as sin.
A thesis built on Gonzo traditions,
Break out the hash,
The lines are spinning again.