Mike Tyson never believed that Cobain could ride on a moon beam.
He was just another brawler, ready to reap the awards of beating people up.
The intellectual stuff was for the computer geeks and butterfly collectors Tyson must
As old Kurt flew to places only a young Rimbaud could fathom.
Mike wanted instant gratification; a wife to hit, a bar patron to punch—while Kurt craved cerebral…wanting to see the world with visceral eyes… Brooding about the search.
Blended colors, frightened children….afraid to live in the transient world of mind-speak.
Tyson now has a tattoo on his face; strained to be remembered as a great fighter
Cobain is dead… he’s buried somewhere in Seattle with a shotgun hole in his skull.
I wonder if Mikey still thinks of Cobain…and the strange way each pursued nirvana.
For The Love Of Oona:
by Steven Gulvezan