Albert, Eddie, Kid Johnny and Rose roamed ruined airplane hangars in Monterey,
Killed, ate mice cooked on thick tree-twig skewers, juiced-away down throats, all the livers just about still alive,
Great escape, great adventure, grim reality, then thoughts across four minds about what to do next,
Albert, Eddie, Kid Johnny and Rose roamed ruined empty store units in Pasadena,
Listened to each other too often to remember whose idea they were now in,
The road to everywhere they’d heard of, got longer, got hotter, the water melted, and birds fell out of the sky and into the Sea of Reduction,
Gathered up by this band of four wandering free-livers with a drink problem,
After seagull pie, a moon took the light for concentrate, and Kid Johnny removed an idea from his mental backpack – Killed Albert, Robbed Eddie, Raped Rose, then Killed Eddie, and then Killed Rose,
Finally, Kid Johnny could walk alone, read his library, uninterrupted by Stoics who hadn’t come from Athens.
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Paul Welsh - Poetry 