hung out with Penn
drinking 7’s at The Mermaid
3 am with cheap tacos
on the corner
as cars hiss up
the avenue
with faces
unnamed as clouds
as death
moves lipid
through darkness
looking for
the next customer
hungover
in a one room
bleeding Ezra Pound
with dreams
of butter blondes
and birds
eating seeds
from my hand
as my
words
crawl back
to
the
dark
-
Author:
TS James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 6th, 2022 03:40
- Comment from author about the poem: I feel a kinship to Bukowski, unlike these middle class white men who fantasize about slumming like him- I lived that life through my twenties and early thirty’s, living in one rooms, sleeping off jobs, Winding up with some bar scag, it ain’t pretty, romance it all you want to it’s real, my style is not so different from his because my life was not so different than his, and like him, I slowly climbed up and out of that when people around me died. This is my tribute to The Man
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
And a fine tribute at that. I've read some Bukowski and this seems true to the man. It follows his general pattern of sort of rambling and also has some of his brilliant phrasings. Nice work. - Phil A.
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