The government
fell again
it's the second time
this year.

It was corruption
same as last time.
I don't vote
there's no point.

The same 2 parties
have been elected for 50 years
here in Portugal.

It's raining outside
there have been storms
floods on and about
and while I was walking the dog
I noticed a tree fell over.

I wondered
how long it had been there.

Some men
like to say
that taking a ****
is one of the best
feelings a man
can have
that it gives you
pleasure.

I don't know
about all that,
but the log
I just dropped
in the crapper
was a huge relief
both physical
and spiritual.

It's a shame
that when I
read poems
on this website
and I refresh
the page
I don't get
that same relief.

"you know
with a smile like yours
you could knock
ANYONE
off their feet..."

"oh really?
remind me of that
the next time
I'm in a bar fight."

You probably think
that I go around
thinking about how
Bukowski would approach
what I'm trying to say
well, I don't.
Yes, he's my favorite poet
and I respect his work
and the amount of honesty
he puts in his words
but if you think
that I don't know
that he *******
sprinkled on his work
and that he exaggerated
his life style, stories,
poems, novels.
then you haven't
read enough
of his work
(or mine) to know
that me and Charles
are nothing alike
and that makes you
irrelevant.

A sack of flaming dog ****
on someone's
welcome mat
ready to be put out
by the home owner
who will stomp you out
look at their shoes
and look at you
rinse you off
with the backyard hose
and forget that you
ever bothered him in the first place

within a couple of weeks.

And that's what makes you
my eternal enemy
because no one cares
about your opinion
of my work
and how different
and unique it is
from Bukowski's.
And if that's true
then the chances are
no one else will either.
God has doomed me
to be a hell of a writer
who can see right through
your lavender
infused poetry—
Leave it for the tea bags.
That's the prospect
I'll have to live with
as I am right now
at 4 am
while I stare at the walls
my dog twitches
while he sleeps on the floor
and while he dreams
insomnia
keeps me company
while it rains.

Oh, and *******.

I often get in between
of men fighting
in bars or cafés
I try to settle down
the fire in their bellies
I step in
Hold them
by the shoulder
and say something
of the sorts:

"Common guys,
you just had a little
much to drink.
we're all friends,
right?"

I've caught
some stray jabs
in the past
so now,
I'm quick on my feet
to step back
and raise my hands
showing I'm not
down for a brawl
not with drunks
at least.

"Get your hands
off my ******* neck!"

Said the last one
I tried to calm down.
He was drunk
and wanted to play
the drums by force.
There was
a karaoke band playing
and the drummer
was a woman
She called
men to the stage
I didn't hear her call
all I saw a
drunk Nordic tall and fatman
about to ruin
everyone's evening.

All of this
was none of my business
My woman scolds me
for getting
in the middle of things
that I might get hurt
and she might get hurt
and she has kids to take care of
and that she brought me
to that bar
and if we got hurt
it would make it her responsibility
all of which I completely dismissed
I didn't think that
it was that serious.

There was this other time
I was walking my dog
a black medium
schnauzer who
enjoyed resting
on the top of my
living room table.
I would walk him
everyday but this day
it was a different day
I walked by this white car
those white fancy cars
that you know are expensive
even if you are like me
and don't understand much
about cars.

"Help me!"
a man's voice yelled
from inside the tainted windows.
He sounded desperate
almost as if he had
a knife up to his throat.
"What's your problem
don't be stupid."
another deep voice said
a baritone's voice
he sounded stern and calm
it felt like controlled violence
like he had been holding
the knife for a while.

I didn't really care
if there was a knife involved
but it sounded serious
life or death
and I chose life
not of the man
who needed help
not of the one
who held the knife
but my own.
A classic case
of none of my business.
So, I just walked past the car
with my dog
didn't even look at the windows
and the dog finished
I went back home.
I backtracked
the car no longer there
I got to the building
climbed the stairs
and with each step
the idea of not caring
settled in my belly
and it didn't make me sick
and that bothers me
because it should've.
I got home
looked outside
my balcony
no trace of the white car.
I told my father about it
he told me it was probably
a gay couple
being a little too rough.

My friend Lontra
was about to jaywalk
but he chickened out
once he saw the incoming bus.
I didn't. I knew I had time
so I ran. I was almost
on the other side
when I tripped
on a bump in the concrete road
I fell. Lontra said
that I fell in slow motion
as he held his head in shock.
He said I ran like a fatman
I fell like a fatman
and I rolled around as one as well.
Everyone in the bus looked at me
he said as soon as
the fatman hit the ground
they all looked to the right.
I got up from my ***
and limped towards some steps
sat down holding my elbow
that I used to break my fall
while he laughed uncontrollably
he said there was a lady
walking next to him
and she just stared at me
on the floor
and then she saw him laughing
so she laughed as well
like she was waiting for
permission.
I'm not a bad sport.
I was laughing since
the moment I realized
that the bus didn't hit me.
We went to McDonald's after
I ate my meal
without washing
my hands.

I'm bored.
I want to hit up
people I don't
care about
and go have a beer
and loads of cigarettes
hold each other's shoulders
in a group in some bar
and laugh like
we are real friends
even though
I've quit
that life.

I'm just bored
and that's
what bored man do.
They go out
and pretend that life
is better than it actually is
and we intoxicate
our selves with drink
and smoke
and plenty of other things.

But instead
I lay in bed
reading a book
I'm half way through
it's good
but it's not enough.
My feet stink
I refuse to get up
and shower
I'll just change socks,
my teeth feel off
from the coke I drank
and I haven't brushed them
since yesterday,
and my poems
hit like heavy hitters
would back in the day
where boxing wasn't
rigged
or ran by punks
with YouTube channels.

*******.
What boredom
makes a man do
in times of need.
Maybe
I should take
a walk
but I'll sit here
marinate on my own
fight against addiction
lack of connection
and poor hygiene.

I'll invite my dog up to bed
and let him lay on me
while he stares at the wall
and I'll stay bored
and write a poem
that won't hit like the rest
but as least
will serve
a purpose
as my girl
waxes her legs
and waits for me
to say something.