This poem has already been peer-reviewed
by nothingness...the mind's rapping gavel...
order in its courtroom has been silenced.
A bird overtakes that space where its
flapping wings will make noise, or not--
the mind thinks itself subtle in its death throes.
Pfff...word...pfff...pfff...words--the Light of
consciousness is on...who's home should
acknowledge an interchangeable residence.

if you read
enough
Bukowski
eventually find out
about his deep
and serious affair
with the feline
species,
one that he
kept up
probably
from the day
he got old
to the
day
he finally
went kicking
into
death

it’s really something
completely out of
character for him and
I think he knew it too

cats?
come on

what happened
to the tough-cut,
bar-fighting
drunk we all
know and
love?

off with his cats?
pfff

but its true
and,
really,
it’s less surprising
than you might
think

I think he respected
them

their calm
ways,
their toughness,
their ability
to come back
from anything and
never even look
scared

that’s what he saw,
he saw himself,
he saw some tough
******* and
they didn’t even
show it

he respected that
I respect that

and when the toughest
one of them all died

I think Buk saw himself
for a moment

cats,
you crazy
sons of
bitchs,
I swear you
know more than
any of us
men

and I salute you,
and I’m sure Buk
does too,
you delicate creatures
go take a nap
you understand more
than all of
humankind
simply by sitting
in the
sun

waiting

we are clumps of chaos
born to waste away
back into what made us
at the end of our stay
our brief coalescence
sentience we say
would be no less meaningless
without the words to describe it that way

they all gathered around to hear
the little girl sing
and she seemed so happy
about it
she had to cry first
But they wouldn't dare join her in her
cry and instead cheered and
urged her to carry on

Sing

And she opened her mouth
to sing
but her mouth was wrong
in as far as singing went
broken
askew
defective
And she kept on singing
and they smiled brightly and dared
not flinch as she sprayed their
faces with spit

but eventually her mother started crying
and father embraced mother and
guided her red face against his
chest and started crying as well
and buried his red face in her hair

Our daughter is so talented
Oh God, oh dear God, so talented

And they began to pray
silently
and the aunt prayed she won't have
to name the song the little girl was singing
Oh God...

And the little girl went
pffff pfff brrr wa pfff chhh pff
with her swollen tongue between the
deformed lips
and surveyed the crowd and wondered
why her cousin wasn't present

Well, it was his loss
somehow he always got grounded
before her concertos

What an idiot

I stand alone, a loner I am thinking I am a loner
completely I stand still,
totally alone I think I am,
except for tree.

I like tree.

Watching this Tree;
I see it:
the leaves are green,
the bark is greyish-brown kind of with a little lighter brownish
junk. A single leaf flutters
down to the ground place
like the little moth in Lord of the Rings.
I like that movie.

The little leaf touches the ground
without a sound it goes “pfff”
I am sad inside my mind brain
not knowing why it did
this.

Oh well.

It doesn’t matter.

The beauty of the tree is not lost, however
it remains within me all of the day.
Beauty that cannot be broken,
cannot be remade,
cannot be undone.
I do like tree.

I'm a yakuza!
'Cause every time I write a from time to time
These people think it's a crime
To tell 'em what's on my mind
I guess I'm a Yakuza !
I don't gotta say a word
I just flip 'em the tattooed bird and keep goin'
I don't take crap from no one.

I have integrity
I have feelings
I had dreams.

My morals went (pfff) when I heard of Tantra.


I'm a yakuza!
'Cause every time I write a from time to time
These people think it's a crime
To tell 'em what's on my mind
I guess I'm a Yakuza !
I don't gotta say a word
I just swirl 'em Baodings and keep goin'
I don't take crap from no one

I was caring
I was loving
Now I am traumatized
And hateful

I'm a yakuza!
'Cause every time I write a from time to time
These people think it's a crime
To tell 'em what's on my mind
I guess I'm a Yakuza !
I don't gotta say a word
I just kick their tantric ***** and keep goin'
I don't take crap from no one


I had friends
I had hopes
But those pervert
Monks.


I'm a yakuza!
'Cause every time I write a from time to time
These people think it's a crime
To tell 'em what's on my mind
I guess I'm a Yakuza !
I don't gotta say a word
I just get the sword, chase and keep goin'
I don't take crap from no one

Zou ik je ook zo mooi vinden
als ik je al had? Ik heb hoogtevrees,
wil toch in het rad, lees
soms over blootstellingstherapie
ma bij mij werkt da nie
PFff

so, you're writing poetry
or, well, at least you pretend to
and you pretend you're good at
it and the people want more from you

nice

but how come none of
what you write is uplifting stuff?

if anything, you've got more
depressing **** than uplifting
stuff
and you expect to get popular
with that?

get real!

you've got to inspire people
you've got to write
motivational stuff, uplifting, hope giving
stuff, upbeat verses brimming with
intelligence and radiating brilliance

your words are like confetti on a page
why are they
so scattered?

what poem is this?

why does it start with a lowercase letter?
are you dumb? Don't you know
how to write?

you're unbelievable, man, unbelievable
and don't even mention the
nonexistence of rhymes, pfff, lame...

this is not a ******* poem, fool
it's child's mockery
and you should grow up and stop
pretending you're doing this for a living

Understand,
you can't write poetry to save your life!
Christ, just look at the anatomy of this... thing

to behold your poem before one's eyes
feels like watching an escaped lab rat
dragging its entrails on the ground

the poor ******* is blind, toeless,
toothless, there's a syringe needle stuck
up its *** and its stomach is cut open
and the guts are pinkish yellow worms
that coil around its hind legs

that's what one of your poems look
like on the page, to the viewer's eyes

I'd seriously stop this **** if I were you
Grow the hell up, get yourself a wife
start a family and focus on
your career instead
of writing for
ghosts
You get it?


Um, yeah. Sure


Are you sure?


I am.


You're not gonna write about this
after I'm gone?


Nah, I'm not gonna write about this
conversation after you're gone
and I won't pretend I'm showing
it to the world and
they're enjoying it
and the critics praise me
and all that.
I'm done.


That's good to hear.
Take care, man. And remember, less
daydreaming and more attention to
the screens, okay? You're paid to do a
job here. To supervise casinos, the
people who work there and what
they do, okay?


Okay.


Good. I'm glad we could get
on the same page here.
Good day now.


Good day.