The Gonzo Wolf

…since I’ve waxed-poetic from the porch swing. An eventful weekend, to be sure. The kind that will get mentioned at my funeral. 

I woke of my own accord.

Four then five then six then fuck it all.

Sirens wailed their ballads letting me know I’s home; indeed.

All plans born of lunacy; squashed, swept below, blamed on the cat.

The Edison bulbs ignite as my bowl runneth low.

Bad timing.

There’s a cool, February breeze on my neck that reminds me of Redding April.

This place would know nothing short; magics below the shadow of Shasta.

Big toe of the Northwest; told in whispers, deathbed monsters, newborn nightmares.

Oh, to be in her glory once more.

Lesbian pirate karaoke.