Verse 4. Why does one get the feeling that, this guy just rattled off his thoughts during a daily buzz, fueled with bad wine and post LSD.
I mean this is not poetry in the Carl Sandberg, Charles Frost sense. Pure garbage, but I suppose he was head of English at some university.
I am waiting for the Great Divide to ‘be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder
‘Pure garbage, but I suppose he was head of English at some university.’
meh; I’ve read a lot worse; mine, for instance...