My friends are all crazies

My friends are junkie taxi drivers who never

take holidays from one year to the next.

My friends are Iggy Pop impersonators who remind

me of how life should be lived.

My friends are old monks and nuns who have shown

me the way in my darkening light.

My friends are ego tripping, vomit spewing performers

who make my poor life look puerile.

My friends are mountains alive with bushfires as the

earth screamed  No.

My friends are anarchist lovers who told Tony Abbott

to go fuck.

My friends are drunken bars from Melbourne to Moscow,

San Francisco to New York.

My friends are wild nights of sex , my Dionysian King

of debauchery songs.

My friends are grossly fat golfers who chased me around a pool

table as I dissolved into laughter.

My friends are my literature freaks who introduced me to

Hemingway and Steinbeck, Orwell and Rimbaud, Bukowski,

and Nin.

My friends are bar room brawlers with fists of iron,

gentle as lambs with hearts as big as the sky.

My  friends are bi polar schizophrenic wanderers

of the universe.

My friends are Richie Havens, God of Woodstock

who laughed like crazy as I told him a joke.

My friends are sun and stars, moon and earth, lakes and rivers,

deserts and seas.

My friends  are poets who talk of nutrients on the

edge of their lips .

My friends are crazies just like me.

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