Romantic Willow and Danny Boy are a couple of beautiful kids who deserve nothing less than to be immortalized in statues speeches films concerts songs montages paintings and books forever and ever after and always, amen. Willow harmonizes with everything including the wind and Danny Boy keeps his music alive to stay sober. You know who this couple is. They are the street urchins. The dirty travelers and happy players who accept love and money and rolled cigarettes and marijuana and shared stories. They sit on the sidewalks, they have piercings in their cheeks and tattoos on their brains, they have a dog wearing a vest, his name is Hank and he carries the blankets, they have dreadlocks, pins pinned on their backpacks, patches sewn on their jackets, stickers from hitchhiking through mexico, sleeping bags for their spot under the bridge. Their friend died from an overdose last year, he was the sweetest craziest motherfucker who could sing the best covers of 90’s folk-punk tunes They want booze They stomp on bibles Sometimes they go intravenous and become drunk Indians floating in the sky They hold their hands together in gratitude for receiving boxed leftovers from down the block. Sometimes they drive busses loaded with beds and guitars and ukuleles and enough fun to turn the world upside down so that they reign as kings They are Chad, Sonya Chagas, Laura Griffin, Abby the Spoon Lady, Anthony Van Zant, Olyn, Abigail, Artis, Erik, Peter They are saintly like Joan of Arc, They are crusty and giving and endowed with powers of nuclear fusion and empathy which could fill oceans and graveyards with smelly bandanas smoky alcohol and fires throughout the night. People treat them like trash like tumbleweeds who clutter up the space, Police order them to move on move out get in line Little girls clutch onto their mother’s skirts and keep their eyes down as they pass these groups of smiling minstrels, of dirty train hoppers. Willow gave me a hug when we first met. She remembered my name. Danny Boy shook my hand and shared his guitar. That is much more than I can say for the others who pass these creatures on the street without a second glance.
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"Romantic," A Weird Catastrophe Poem
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Romantic Willow and Danny Boy are a couple of beautiful kids who deserve nothing less than to be immortalized in statues speeches films concerts songs montages paintings and books forever and ever after and always, amen. Willow harmonizes with everything including the wind and Danny Boy keeps his music alive to stay sober. You know who this couple is. They are the street urchins. The dirty travelers and happy players who accept love and money and rolled cigarettes and marijuana and shared stories. They sit on the sidewalks, they have piercings in their cheeks and tattoos on their brains, they have a dog wearing a vest, his name is Hank and he carries the blankets, they have dreadlocks, pins pinned on their backpacks, patches sewn on their jackets, stickers from hitchhiking through mexico, sleeping bags for their spot under the bridge. Their friend died from an overdose last year, he was the sweetest craziest motherfucker who could sing the best covers of 90’s folk-punk tunes They want booze They stomp on bibles Sometimes they go intravenous and become drunk Indians floating in the sky They hold their hands together in gratitude for receiving boxed leftovers from down the block. Sometimes they drive busses loaded with beds and guitars and ukuleles and enough fun to turn the world upside down so that they reign as kings They are Chad, Sonya Chagas, Laura Griffin, Abby the Spoon Lady, Anthony Van Zant, Olyn, Abigail, Artis, Erik, Peter They are saintly like Joan of Arc, They are crusty and giving and endowed with powers of nuclear fusion and empathy which could fill oceans and graveyards with smelly bandanas smoky alcohol and fires throughout the night. People treat them like trash like tumbleweeds who clutter up the space, Police order them to move on move out get in line Little girls clutch onto their mother’s skirts and keep their eyes down as they pass these groups of smiling minstrels, of dirty train hoppers. Willow gave me a hug when we first met. She remembered my name. Danny Boy shook my hand and shared his guitar. That is much more than I can say for the others who pass these creatures on the street without a second glance.