Yes, I admit, my work is never posh
I don\'t like fancy poetry
I don’t need a vocabulary of big words
sending my reader to a dictionary isn’t my style
I prefer to make them cringe and blush
that is where the richness truly comes from right?
pure honesty of who and what I just fucked
prostitutes and dogs galore
even one poem that gets the reader thinking
thinking about the magnificent imagery
and emotion from each unpoised line
waiting anxiously for the next
and in some rare cases
when my reader even becomes envious?
because isn’t that\'s what poetry means?
and finally… the last line
that always gives me the satisfaction of impact
Bukowski admitted his very best friends
and finest company were Bach and Mozart
and the true reason he loved them
was because they were already dead
so maybe, just maybe, right now
they are all somewhere
composing a masterpiece…
whilst I the muse, am living very happily in limbo?