I'm not sure if death is an injury
but from the Rockies to the Yangtze
If you read any Bukowski
You may never rip that knife free

A final stanza on the busy bus
can make the world freeze
so don't forget to hold onto the handrail
or when it really stops,
you'll be brought crashing to your knees

there's those poems that destroy you
from inside to out
an h-bomb of hopelessness
and the post realisation fall-out

there's that poem that you read
that stops you in your tracks
dropping the book on your nose
as you're lying on your back

There are those poems that complete you
and also those that abscise;
Taking a little love from behind your ribs
and a little light from behind your eyes

wondering
why's the vice president always so senior
is that a permanent feature
like how 2+2 is always equal to 4
and I'm lying on the floor
wondering if these words have been said before

like
what makes the beauty of the sea
are you beautiful
or is it just to me
does it matter
do we matter
what's beauty's main factor
why does the mad hatter
drink tea
a clock carrying bunny
is more mad than a tea party
bon soir mon amie
that's all from me

The freckled girl screams 'out **** spot'
thinking they're part of some Higher plot.

They are. They are. They are.
For this sky would be nothing without the stars
Imagine Orion's belt without each datum
(and I say this without sarcasm)
Think of the ocean that'd be a chasm.
Without the drops - nothing happens

poetry would be nothing without the atom