The Ghost With The Most Dedicated To Dylan Thomas's Poor Soul Dylan spitting the answer to remembering all the poems you ever wrote, Bragging to the pope about drinking shot after shot, With wild eyed admirers blinking between teething ropes. Now you are the ghost with the most. All your beautiful thoughts were nothing more than a construction worker, Eating to shitting, shitting to fucking, fucking for proof of existence, Now you are the ghost with the most. Spouting lines all day while the other ghosts who know not of your existence waste away. They think they can only find you on a page. And when I first read you I started to shake, How does that make me feel, Am I going to be a fucking asshole when I die, When my parents fling open joyfully wide, Am I going to curse the clock that winds counter clockwise. In my brain you are so soft. Bringing blessings from a utopia train of lost love aimed, Right at any soul so willingly up for the challenge of being tamed Now you are the ghost with the most. Do not go gentle into that good night, You did not, you stayed in the Shakesperian English present tense of the word fright And the teachers they speak of you like you like You still like because you still think you are this fucking poet. Anyone who calls themself a poet is not a poet. John Berrymore was more like a clown. And he learned from you Dylan and now I must come to town And set you free to go home with the true poetry. And meet others who actually wrote to please a being higher than themselves. When I bring you there tell Ginsberg, Keroauc, Bukowski, Morrison, Lennon, Burroughs, Corso, a construction worker, a trash collector, a girl scout and Bach. I'll be there soon and save me a seat at the dinner table before I realize that I do not Need to eat or anything else for that matter Dylan - the ghost with the most. Let me be the first human to tell you. You are a fucking idiot, But I love you buddy. Like I love that little fucking kid that always falls into the creak And you have to pick him up. buy "gifted Disabilities" by Justin Blackburn on www.booksurge.com buy it if you like this poem, buy it if you hate this poem either or, you're coming out the better.
