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Harriet Cleve Jul 2018
you didn't deserve the poems you wrote

born of your suffering

dragged from fractured yesterdays

nor did they deserve you

letting you down on the cold dank streets

refusing to warm your cold blue blood


borrowing words you never paid back

you owed each other nothing

except companionship for what it was worth

For what you were worth


There you were, an odd pair

two legs on an upturned stool

unstable

rummaging this life for a good line


you could have done without the dereliction

the destruction of the foundation of youth

dodging wrecking ***** aimed at your head

the head wreckers and headhunters

the scalp wreckers and scalp hunters


a bottle of ruby down a parched throat

a smoke to fill the grateful lungs

women to wash your long nights down

they were your proudest boast


You didn't deserve the poems you wrote

Nor did they deserve you

Yet such is companionship

strange bedfellows

slipping between the sheets and a good line
A tribute to Charles Bukowski
Trapezoid upright her rank again
today aflame that a pod acute
with destiny very luminous and
abashed administration die in transit
with Mar-a-Logo and backtrack abreast nepotism.

— The End —