POEM -- Hunter Thompson

Hunter Thompson

By Thomas Herr

In this Winter
Of the never-ending snowstorm

I frolic in the flowered fields
With prostitutes for my sunshine

I still smoke my first cigarette every day
I still walk the fine line
I still skate the thin ice
I still roam the slums of my mind
I still soak up the bad and filter out the rest

I defy it all as an actor performing

I defy it all as a scientist postulating

Hunter Thompson;

You’ve got nothing on me.