I just found this Alberta poetry website. and ran across this poem. I loved Hunter S. Thompson. I met him once, and gave him a sketch I did of him. He touched in a very deep manner, and although to my regret I can't say I knew him, I FELT him move in my own writings. There were many like me, Hunter was a very charismatic person. I wonder if he liked the drawing I did of him? I wonder what he did with it? I wonder if he was touched by my Gift.
So when I found this poem, I laughed, and felt a little melancholy a little restless, as I always do when I remember my life on the Bus. (Cuz you are either On the Bus, or you are Off the Bus)
Sunset w/ Hunter & his Hell’s Angels
Sitting in a worn out
Fold out camp seat
Reading H.S.T.’s Hell’s Angels
Sipping on brandy-orange
Last of the day’s sun withering on my face
& on my cucumbers
They have spots & many of the leafs have wilted
Perhaps diseased & dying
I chew on this a while,
Drink to the bounty they’ve given me
Nod my head back into the book
Where I find this phrase
“I knew all the outlaws
Lived in cities,
Where the price of a six-pack ranges
From $0.79 to $1.25”
I’m comfortable w/ the carriage of time
Say as seen whipping by
On a diseased & dying vine
But 79 cents for a six-pack
Back in California, 1965
Conjures up all kinds of romantic thinking in me
& I rehash some old folk wisdom
Can while you can
& pickle in the prime of the vine
~ Piotr Pawlowski
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