I read the master
baiting the system
with insane rants and raves.
Mad swirls of words
floating
down
and
out
on paper canvas pages
…blank.

Mad with insanity saying:
“See that there,
that vast white space,
that there is me.”

Scratching our heads
in wonder
wondering
just what the hell was said?

But now he’s dead.

The doctor
couldn’t handle
the white canvas,
sitting still
as the world
turns
on
end

“How ’bout munching on my .45?”

Careful though, Doc,
it’ll put a hole
in the back
of your mad head.

The Doctor is dead.

RIP Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)