Hunter Thompson on the Morning of February 21, 2005

You, Gonzo Fucker exclamation point.
Only you, scathing senior citizen, resident of a nation
that hasn’t existed since 99, if it ever did,
never will again, gun to the head.

Drugs in the trunk, desert in the frontal lobe.
The only good junkie is a celebrated junkie. Sunglasses
in that bad movie, ink illustrations of thick hallucinations,
desert in the trunk, drugs in the frontal lobe.

This was the only way for you to go, Geriatric Trigger,

anything else would have been bad fiction,
there isn’t any more room for you here.
I wonder why he did it,    
the latest Republican in some bunker chuckling.
Brains in the barrel, bullet in the sky.
Grandpa, your unwanted wannabes imbibe everywhere 
tonight, spread on the pavement, watching sky, 
drunk desert stars speeding toward them, 
wobbling in orbit, smearing desert scars.