Charles bukowski hated mickey mouse
Living in a meritocracy
I could never fully understand
The sound of her voice sent quivers
Down the shaft of the arrow pointing at it’s target
They sweated and dripped as their muscles
Flexed as the gazelles ran across the savannah
Fleeing from the herding dog the horses ran
Ancient lore of desert pear
I am a desert
Long and dry
I am a rabbit
Going into my hole at night
Falling deeper and deeper
Onto my stash of carrots
I am an engine
I consume your fuel by night
During the day, I am hand cranked
But at night I eat your coal
Smoky and dark, black with energy and ash
Poisoning your lungs as you inhale
Filling you with energy
Becoming the engine
High on a fence in the city somewhere she cries
Her meow of anger and sorrow, atop a lid
The coyote howls with fierce
In envy of the wolf
Vines crawling up my legs
Leary eyed watching
The eyes bulge out of their sockets as
She, mouth agape, glances from afar
What you said, the hat was gone
Prim and proper, necessary and proper
Proper for what? My best friend’s funeral?
You joke about an epidemic
It was happening to me
Don’t make light of what I see as
The way the truth the light, light of a
Slice of a nectarine, red and yellow, opening it’s juicy hollow
To you, pit waiting
Devouring one’s soul of a fruit
You are becoming the food,
You are not just what you eat
But how you eat it too
And the way it tastes when you eat it
The bite of sweet upon your tongue
Nectar flows from the skin as you break
It with your teeth, sweet, and as you chew
The flesh your mouth stings and puckers
Sour yet sweet, it hurts but you can’t stop
Latched on like a babe at the breast
You finish your victim, the ripe fruit
Smashing shells like oysters on a beach
Nuts under your feet
Meat only inside of the hard woody surface
Why evolution played such a trick
Damn those squirrels and their acorns
Stuck with the over ripe pecans they all left behind
And here I am foraging for a measly nut
And I have to step on it to eat it.
Gross. But I guess I can deal with that
Fingers in a v, why do you old like that posture
So delicate so pouty so unemotional
Not ever showing your true face behind that poorly photo
Manipulated frame, you retouch your face in order
To hide blemishes and past scars
Who knows what they’ll dig up under the layers
Stripping away the photoshopped, and leaving a bare photo
Cactus dry and wrinkly
Spiny and rough
Never fragile for a moment
The plum squishes in your hand,
Violets, crused and dying
Leave a perfume behind
Am I just a perfume to be left behind
Not a stink or something easily recalled upon
I barely recognize the scent of a violet
In the forest she sits with the sun placed atop her back
Shining like a beacon
White hair and coat, slender body
She has brought light to the world
Life and energy in her wake
All stare as she passes
Moss covered bark growing flowers
Mushrooms and herbs
Not a 7 layered pizza
Or dipping sauce for chips
But a real garden of nourishment
Lying in wait
A great spirit sits
As the echo of the biwa enters the chapel hall
You can only hope the mats on the floor will soften the blow
Of reality as it hits your novice face
Fair and unsuspecting of the dirty tricks
the demon keeps under the pillows and jugs of sake
Exit no.
Photoshop the penis off the girl for gods sake
