but I never mailed it
what’s the point
the guy is dead
would his carcass crack open a beer
his rusty smith corona clack
beneath skeleton hands
while he searched for a book
of matches to light a cigarette
no
the whole exercise is silly
besides
anyone can write like Bukowski
all you have to do is bleed
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
I’ve been writing poetry since I was a little kid. I think that poetry is probably my native language. In my best work, I think that I’m able to create something that feels like truth. If you find something in my words that move you, something that makes you smile , something which gives you pause for reflection , then I’m grateful. I sell real estate from time to time, and in moments of grace or despair, joy or terror, times of wonder and gratitude, I sail about in my good old ketch , Further.
Further - a distance that can’t be measured.
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