Old times
Sting like
Fresh wounds
What would happen
If I cut until I bled
Then watched my life trickle out
A flood from within my veins
Staining my sheets
Ruining my bed

i feel like a tiger
pacing in a cage
it is not poetic
in the way that
if the bars were opened
i would burst out
like a firecracker
it is instead in the way that
i would lie down where i stood
unable to leave.

Breast pocket.

Sorry.
Haven’t written in a while.
Scarf drank some bleach.
He said he was fine.
the glue dried up.
But Sarah said she’d go get some new tarps.
Passed out form singing in a river.
Woke up without any legs.
I walked it off.
Till I remembered we have crimson hats and mittens.
It’s cold here at burning man.
Memphis time is the right time to shoot up.
The wires are crossed.
N the surfing is credible.
n I’m going & got tired half way thru this.
                                 Your son that never knew ya.
                                  Lighthouse Bukowski.




Garrett Johnson.

I miss you in my life, at every turn you would be there, ready for me to mumble on about the drama in my life
and
now that seat is empty where you sat and the hole in my soul is gaping open ever since you left, letting all of the kind words you once spoke to me drift through and disappear into the wind.