Dear Friend

Dear Friend,

There was a brief instance in time, us still on the break wall, the ocean sublime. 

When symmetry of souls combined with intellectual burning coals to soutter together solidarity

(that’s when you tossed my cell in to the sea, setting me free.). 

On the brief occasion that your vocation allowed for the frolicking of two minds into one nation,

 Poetry would break free (the rhyming over the beat box while floating in the sea.)  and riot on Disco.

 Maimed it, thought we killed it only to flame the fire of what Hunter S. compared to herpes.

 So after the treatment ended I sat with hands braced on knees and listened to the never ending four four beat disease.

 Glitter and hot pants will not defeat our new frontier.

 (So let me make this clear.)

 Kurt Cobain is dead,

Hunter S lost his head.  

Bradley Knoll had it right, but heroin called it an early night.

 Where are the Prophet wearing red, green and gold?  

This MTV generation will mortgage your soul.

 As far as these globes of sight can see its down to You or me

to take a machete to this literary bureaucracy.

 If you make it to Oprah’s couch before me.

 Remember the break-wall, the boat and sea.  

The bottle of stolen Bacardi razz (split between you and me).  

Remember:

Don’t make that dash for cash, sit and hash through the hypocrisy, drop in with soul-flow, and no matter where you go there will always be a mind of simpatico that is waiting for the day that some one will really slay disco.  

love

Tallon