The name of the coffee shop inside the Factory,
the junkyard of your imagination, music of my day.
If you could Save yourself, this could be your home,
but an invisible Savior knocked on your apartment door
and you let Him keep you there, away from fresh air
and the stagnant atmosphere destroyed your vision.
Each color has it’s own texture, the recipe of senses.
Tragedy obliterated my heart, no use crying for a smiling baby
This day I dropped her off to see Selma, some therapy no doubt
Reality is just what appears on our canvases on this one day.
Charles Bukowski
Remember when you felt so cool all the time?
Grainy memories of invincibility and power!
Youth, they call complete idealism, experimentation.
His departure from that day is as. wide as that tie
Six decades,only a partial life, yet so momentarily weighty.
Shadow boxing, to appear able to defend yourself.
Your life a gossamer covering, to imagined slights.
I’m with you, repulsed by those that profess to be assured, always.
Self knowledge is reward itself for, hours spent alone, thinking in the quiet.
Unless your brain lies to you and you never meet up with your real fears.
What is certain is that this life is exquisite in all the mistakes and chaos.
Characters that we applaud along the way are the vulnerable and striving.
Spring flowers are my very best friends.
When they show their jonquil faces in garden patches,
the world is sane and the earth is solid and predictable again.
Which is how none of the rest of my life ever is.
Cursed perhaps with perennial narcisis
daffodillia in no Species Plantarium
Nonsense that must be dug up
so the worms can make earth of us all.
Small minds hate that women love science
bare foot and pregnant and titrating buffers?
A “New Ager” told me he got some wetter water
from the health food store, the hydrogens
have an extra electron! I said not one word!
I was accused by a stranger for not using
scientific thinking to dispel spirituality from my life
If Albert has a way of incorporating miracles
I am walking barefoot right behind him on this beach
She retreated into a dark room,
unable to think anything but what a loser she had become.
The stories repeated about a pulled tooth, an imperfect cervix.
The Glass Menagerie is coming so I used the story that Williams
bore great guilt when returning home to find his sister had a botched
lobotomy. Made weighing 175 lbs not seem like the end of her world,
for just one brief moment. Then the insanity returns. How to change
enough to exit this room and return to hopefulness. None of her own
stories have any truth anymore. Paranoia locks her inside day after day.
Stories can jar one somehow to return to the world and try reality.
Paris is the Springtime for her, damned cold drops here
Limitless Possibilities for him, for us Puddles of probabilities
Priests drunk with vodka instruct on Satan’s blame for travails
and rewards for the obedience of the miserable in challenge.
If only the excruciating pain could bring me to that belief, instead
of mental breakdown insanely railing at my protector?
What test of integrity, is standing by, while beached those
that lived with righteousness, are left sun bleached carcases?
Wicked funny, he loves when I throw that switch
Play for us is moving all the body parts on the slab
Rearranging the neck screws for his favorite T shirt
The torch is lit and who knows where the townspeople
will throng tonight, Argh! Don’t you worry baby cakes
I got your back, your butt , the Doctor is in and out
Have you forgotten about Anita Bryant? Even a glass of OJ can be controversial CJ. Maybe it’s just me, but if you say it a certain way isn’t it JEWs! What was the name of your old evangelist friend? He gave you something to get through Christmas 2013.
biochicklet 