headed south with a hangover
Jack's teeth ache
and the whores are plastic
wine glass empty
as the roach burns fingers.
The ice road slide
a bike without screws.
Next years ride
an old dead sled
and a jug of rum.
About Me
- Dale Hunt
- He's become comfortable in that ol' civil war jacket. What would compliment that mess of hair? A sage cigarette, a bottle in his hand and a book in his pocket. A hobo at heart a drunk by night and a rambling pain. Tired and old before his time. Studying the greats Bukowski, Tom Waits William S. Burroughs and Hunter S. Thompson, Kerouac and John Steinbeck. Drinking Brandy and Cockspur rum from the bottle. Hiding down South for the winter months running from the cold and consequence.
1 comment:
A toast...
To smooth seas
and no spaghetti hounds.
See you in July...
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