There's a bluebird in my heart
too,

but unlike
yours

I like to let mine out
from time to time,

I let him spread his wings
I let him sing

his songs to me
& to the world,

My bartenders like him,
he's how I've gotten most
of the ****** into my bed

and he doesn't mind the smoke,
everyone needs a drag
from time to time,

He's the one
who prefers Jameson
and told my tongue
to not drink
much else,

I don't hide him,

But I'm not mad
that you hid yours away

I'm glad you did
because as much as you
inspire me and make me
want to share my songs

with the world,

I'm glad I'm not as angry
as you made yourself out
to be,

I get it, the image
is everything about
what seperates the men
from the boys,

and at this point I think
I'm all grown up
and we're stuck together
with the same fate,

So I let my bluebird sing
Bukowski,
because more than anything

your songs taught me

how to ****
what the world thinks.

And thank you for lying
to me

You old, drunk *******,

Because you let your bluebird
fly, you know it

and may the gods bless you
for not even trying.

I love you
*******.

Just one question,
Are you crying now?

Lost
at sea
in the eye of the
Storm

The wind took
me here

pushes me further
away from
shore

away from
Home

I've sent birds
from the
deck
but none
have returned

and now I have
none left

The stars and the moon
are no match
for the clouds,

no silver lines
slice through
on this night

Only mouthfuls
of salt water
and the stink
of dead fish

swept onboard
by wave
after wave
of rouges

The crew wash
overboard while
repairing, raising
the ripped sails,

some swept away
taken by the darkest
blades, and some
cling to what they can

They beg for
relief, seeking a

break,

but I can't control
much, much
less the weather

and I wish they
weren't here because
this ship is going
down

eventually,

and I know my fate
lays at the bottom
of some yet

uncharted waters
and as captain
I have a duty to

stay with
my ship
and save
my crew but,

they stay
with me because
they always have,

always will,
after all,

That's what friends are for

to guide your ship,
repair her sails,
help you find
the way home

while the storm rages,
the winds never
stop,

maybe the birds knew
the journey was a failure
from the start,

and once released
they found a nest like
they should've had all along

and in that
I can't blame them,

I'm still looking
for my Home too,

on a ship of friends
with my broken heart
rudder pushing
forth,

but in a heading
unknown.

Thirty years of monthly
payments for a roof,
garage, and backyard,

The house burns down
the day you pay
it off,

A brand new model,
heated seats, leather
wrapped steering wheel,
more speakers than
you can hear,
pride and joy,
taken from you
by some careless *******,
focused on "Me"
not focused on red
lights or stop
signs.

The frame is bent,
airbags deployed,
the insurance
writes you a check
and sends a form
apology with next
month's bill.

The newest clothes
aren't so new,
once they're washed
twice,

but we base our wealth
on fleeting things,
wood, status symbols
and cotton,

We pay ourselves
by saving money
already spent,
and paying old bills
so we can have new ones,

Wealth isn't tied to these
temporary things, easily
replaced by more
work and money

No

Wealth is created,
easily sustained,
by good night kisses,
road trips just because,
and matching shirts
for family pictures,
things that make us
remember how to be
happy,

because we are all temporary,
but our love is
not so easily
replaced.
So even if
you rent, or
you take
the bus
or you have clothes
in your closet for years

The time spent
with people you love
wil always cover
you until the
next paycheck
you've already spent
anyway.

Too little,
The rabbit,
Bukowski,

counted,
scheduled,
realized

that the clock
is unkind
and fate
unkinder,

In college
I went home
regularly

but the work week
doesn't have winter
or summer break,

and this town
isn't home yet
but it's the closest
thing to it,

Nights like
this I smoke
cigarettes on
my porch,

think about
what being a good son
is,

think about the nights
I didn't show up
for dinner when my dad
got home from his
forty hour weeks,

but it's all the times
I was there that bother
me the most.

One day, I know
that he will ask
questions,

Children have a way
of noticing things
that are there,

seeing shapes
and shadows
that aren't,

A special talent for noticing
missing things and finding
words to help them understand
what shadows mean
and how the sun shines.

Some children grow up
and ask where the sun
goes when the shadows

grow,

I know

that the silver
lining is a cliché,
but I keep looking at the clouds
expecting a miracle,

but the rain brings
no relief,

only pelts me with reason
after reason to keep writing
to you, even though you'll
never read these words,

I know one day

he will.

The sun always shines,
somewhere,
even on the cloudiest
nights, silver lines slice
through in patches,

and all the shapes
and shadows tell
me that.