is shooting your wife a romantic gesture?

The people of the evening sing roaring tunes
And weave in and out of paper houses
Wanderlust and fairy dust
And remnants that they were here.
My desolate angels
Come back to the womb
The city of bright lights
And endless nights
Come inhale this San Franciscan air
Let the dreamers know that you are there.

Let us dance off to unspoken lands
Rejoin with the great minds who have inspired us
The poets who drank themselves into oblivion
Burroughs who shot his wife
And that silly Ginsberg who "howl"ed 
I am not afraid.

I can tiptoe ever so gracefully
Like ants in spilled sugar
Or leap valiantly
Like frogs from lily pad to lily pad
Swim with conviction
Like hungry fishes
All starry-eyed and eager
Without pattern or thought or rhyme.

So trot the globe with a pencil in hand
Meet the latest, craziest people of the land
Promise yourself a smile every morning
(Or a stiff drink)
Take a moment to sing that simple song
The roaring tunes I love to hear
My fleeting people of the night