I could make up some aesthetic intro
about how the rain is falling
& how the air tastes
but they’ve read it all at least
a thousand times,
at least.

it’s “spring” in Kansas and it’s rainy
& cold as **** for May
not much poetic about it unless
you’re like Shirley Manson
I guess
storms used to terrify me but
now I adore them;
transient and full of intensity
& beautifully


unpredictable


I haven’t really tried to write in so long
I had to force myself to pry open
the dusty laptop --
only because I knew I’d be too impatient
putting thoughts with pen
onto paper

I get why Buk relied on his typewriter
I just wish I had his mental fortitude to write
through complete writer’s block
at the edge of my
wit’s end

the world has not improved, as we kind of
all suspected
the supreme court is dipping their toes
into overturning roe. vs. wade

& all in the midst of the worst inflation
I’ve ever seen
(and a formula shortage)
it’s all a stage and we’ve all been
the puppets for years

but the fourth wall is coming down,
albeit slowly.



I wonder what he would have had to say about it.

enough, I’m sure.

Remember
Eternal silence
Before the breaking light

The trees outside
With all their color
With all my color
Tumbling down
Decaying
Into black and white

A sinking feeling
Origin unknown
Fleeting dreams
(Some mine, some not)
Absurdity moves through us

Random thoughts collecting
In the gutters of my mind
Meaningless
Noise

Concealed within a single teardrop
Falling from a roof top
The final step
The last breath

And then there was the day
that Bukowski ruined my life
I'd have been a regular girl
Maybe made a good wife

But he got a hold of me
Then cynicism snatched my mind
He was almost beside me
Grabbing my behind

I'd gotten straight
I'd forgiven my past
Then incame Hank
So it didn't last

I'm on the level
No knives in MY skirt
The other girls they teach
How a man to hurt

But I was gone, just gone
I couldn't have destroyed you
The Gods had been good to you
The tracks had adored you

And within your words
I found no salvation
Just a world you'd flown from
Leaving only adoration

But I was born in 77
A 17 itch before you passed
Your life still an obsession
By loving an outcast

A rose garden
Whiskey
Typewriter
That's what you gave to me
You gave me thicker skin
Now
I'll write...
I'll  just be

#bukowski