(2013)
now, I’m no Bukowski but my friends who don’t like poet… except his stuff, tell me they like mine, and I can drink like a drinking machine
if you enjoy this pain, all expressions of it, being here compiled, then, yes enjoy them, but
the conquering child turns 50, gets the gag out its mouth, says here i am. let’s play now
something you need makes you its bitch, yes even as it isn’t coming, no when love stands you up & all the more sweet
yeah, the contract the social one, so long ago supposedly agreed to, we were born instead into. what
so, come on then, brilliant one, see, i’ve been waiting for you with eyes
god is unwelcome in suburbia, the cells are too comfortable there, & love rests best under stars.
let’s put all the stupid things in a pile and call them “love” or “worry” or
when (finally) we meet I’m thinking spring wildflowers will bloom on high
why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything
drry awfl drd sys thngs tk t lng & y bttr hrry lst y
people, mostly all barely beyond apes, cannot be trusted. they are incapable of caring
I understand the tattoo now “VERITAS” on your wrist, only there because it is entirely absent everywhere else.
they really do know how to shove something up your ass like
does a king come ready– made, or doesn’t he emerge from a prince once a frog, and aren’t you
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