On the beach
waves collide with the shore,
coming from above
and slamming down
battering the sand.
As the ocean retreats back into itself
it claws the beach
and rips away its skin.
Clouds
huddle together and through sheer mass,
hue black.
Screams
bellows
and the pummeling sound of behemoths in disrest.
Tiny daggers drop from the riot,
denting the crust,
softening it.
And finally
the sand is pierced
by the feet of a hundred stampeding tourists,
failing to outrun the bullets
of a ****** in a rage.

Charles Bukowski
Died with a wife
at the end of his life
left a world that was rife
with the blade of a knife
And a soul filled with stife
And another word that sounds alike is fife.

The average police officer makes $55,000 dollars are year.
The average police officer makes 55,000 friends a year.
Bad friends
who will never back him up
when he needs them most.
Green friends,
jealous of each other,
who, ironically, only work well in huge groups.
The average police officer is yelled at
at least once a day.
The average police officer sits in a car,
waiting for his chance to be yelled at.
A good car,
made of steel,
with a bright light and a speaker for shouting,
"Pull over."
And an air conditioner.
The average police officer has a gun for self protection,
and a baton for the offensive.
The average police officer wears black
or blue.

Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
Exhale
The clock is hyperventilating.
If it dies, how will I wake up in the morning?

Eerrrnk
Eerrrnk
Eerrrnk
Eerrrnk
Eerrrnk
Eerrrnk
Eerrrnk­
Eerrrnk
The clock is waking up screaming.
What kind of nightmares do clocks have?

Down
His
Throat
Her arm careered

Around
His
Larynx
Her fingers twirled

And
Ripped
Snatched
Yanked, pulled, vellicated

Down
the
Esophagus
went the voicebox
And into his gut, boiling over, bubbling with acid

Sarah
told
Bobby
That he overtalked

And she forced him to eat his words.

Any friend of yours
(We have nothing in common,
Not even you.
How is it that they know you
and I know you
but we know separate people?)
is a friend of mine.

She forces me to hang up
at 12:30
I think she's uncomfortable talking to me.
I know she's going to tell
her friends people like me
Feel too.

I'm not people
like I told her.
I'm a lot like the criers
The people in black
Self obsessed in their own self pity.

I'm a horrible mix
Of normal person
And complete social degenerate
To where I can't get along with either.

She's going to tell
All her buddies
who think she's such a great person
That she heard a person like me
cry.

Even more
She's going to tell them
She made me laugh.

She was telling me
How I felt.

“You feel like nothing matters”
She's the world's most depressing hypnotist.

“You feel like you're living shallowly”
Yes.
She's a genius.

I couldn't help
But laugh at the silliness
Of it all.