Almost Two Years Now

Hunter Thompson

What everyone made of him

Is it the same for me?

They said he knew he would be studied

And that’s why he subsumed himself?

The same for me?

I stand in the awkward position of idolatry

Loving few writers who mean so much

Because the rest are just such quiet voices

But these men all became revered

For being distinctive, (like me?)

And believing in themselves

Which makes them impossible mutants

In a liquid genetic stew of LCD

So here is the question of my life

If I am never in, if I never, if

No one ever gives a shit about me

If I can never say

I stand in the awkward position of idolatry

Of others

Without grandiose belief in self

But still note the beauty

What will become of me?

Will my cannon be a pauper’s grave?

If I impact nothing

Am I nothing?

I do not want to be a Hollywood star

I don’t need pretty women to fuck me

Or a nice house or a big car

Or even a shitload of people telling me

That what I do is worthwhile

(Don’t misunderstand me)

I am just curious

When I can still turn back

If this will be worth it at all

In the way that a smoker

Waves the match and then looks at it

Curious

Before it hits the trash