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Dean 1d
Trudging over
dew and ground
a shot in the park
sounds
the birds go
to another place
red rain of the body
pours on the earth's
stolid face
the crimson stream
trickles down
the soured green
like a river flowing
in its sheen
the man and his book
with thoughts in it
lay
on the violent soil
where the dogs play

the life is empty like the trees
the life is gone with the earth's breath
and red dreams.
Dean 5d
Roses are red
and jackets are
black
how long will it take
for my hair to grow
back?
Dean 7d
reading bukowski
with the light
on the page
will the world
change
for me,  
if i just sit
here?

dissatisfied
with  
frivolity
of the stolid  
ticking day
and
the equally slothful
night
and i'm  

dying for and of
life
how much more time
will i
invest?

loathing around
and doing nothing
in particular
is what I do
best.
how soon is now?
  May 16 Dean
Charles Bukowski
I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.
Dean May 14
I would write
a poem
but I've never
had the pleasure
of being
depressed.
Dean May 14
The same thing everyday
is like a dull
and sullen
play
which never gets cancelled

a set of keys
a white cloud and boxes
traffic and cutlery
a TV show an alarm
watering a plant
a ***** in the floor and
a smile

the same thing everyday
the same thing everyday

the same thing everyday
is like a tumor
in the brain
enough to drive this
sensible man
insane.
Dean May 13
I'd like to be
the quiet person
but sometimes i'm not
when i get a beer
in me
and then i babble
and annoy
like a man of no
intelligence.

— The End —