Girl in black masquerade gown with books balanced on head

One high-heeled foot on drum

The other

A laceless sneaker


Long-stemmed glass of wine in right hand

Slim bottle of Summum ***** in left


Background dissonance


Vintage grey vehicle with red interior

PYT seated in the back

Tatted up bad boy in front seat

Bearded man in tailored blue suit

Hand draped over driver's seat door


Red carpet rolled out to the entrance of a dive bar

that leads into a mansion

Eyes Wide Shut

I am holding on to the handles of hesitation anxiously riding while looking back at the past that brought me here. He is pushing on the peddles of patience wishfully riding while looking towards a future with me there. We are worlds apart. Wanting similar things like the love and support we both can bring. But stuck we are in the middle - fearful of what it was and hopeful of what it could be.

Seated side by side,
corners of clothes touching.
Affliction stumbling out of mouths,
into the well where sound is felt
deep and wide.

Ripe for the Picking

Strange fruit
I am
Maybe if you take a bite
your soul will be nourished with my seeds


Flying the Coup

My feelings are like chickens
Simple to hatch
Hard to catch...


It Wants What It Wants

The heart can be wrong
and because of a lonely existence
may cling to the first handsome emotion
willing it to be the one beautiful thing it desires


On the Edge

My last fond memory of him
Was spent in my home
Right before I no longer lived there

If there's doubt it's probably wrong
If it burns it's because it's hot

If it breaks it was never strong
If it's real it can't be bought

If it rains it's bound to pour
If it makes you crazy you should run

If it truly sees you it won't ignore
If it's intended there's probably a pun

If it's perfect it's definitely flawed
If there's no proof then it's not legit

If it perpetrates it's a bonafide fraud
If it's not the right size it's not a good fit

If it meets you halfway that's not enough
If it hurts it can't possibly be true love

I've never read poems by other poets the way I read Bukowski's poetry
His legacy feeds my intense hunger for something other than what I know

And

It is worth my dollar
to learn more of what he thought
about the rigmarole of life, humans and ***.

I plead guilty of swimming freely
in the open water of my thoughts
and forgetting to come up for air.

It is what keeps me afloat.