only because i think i'm "good"

truth
tones that strike the synapses like chords
poke and play fun,
influencing emotions and provoking thoughts,
realizing realizations that i've been too weak to accept:
the hardest truth of all those damned truths.
and there are a lot of damned truths
but this one just really hurts.

day
i fell asleep with the smell of a book,
with the sound of modern British;
with the fickle chill of the wind,
fresh from the waters of
the coast, from the lands of Faraway,
grazes carelessly:
my soft and vulnerable extremities.

anxious and waiting and anxious and anxious and waiting.
hours passed, while emotions tested, when voices silenced where
music oscillates into the broken brain to remedy the broken heart.

speechless and finished and
made up to break up and
too tired so giving up and
damned and damned and damned and damned and still anxious and still waiting
and for what?

...sun retreats and Cold fills.
clouds turn to fog, mobilizing,
preparing, assembling, to frost the buildings and our bodies.

a hard day to anyone's standards
accompanied with a rough sleep and a
thousand questions unanswered, unwavering,
never ceasing their presence in that
rattled and shook brain with that
sore and beaten heart.

falling
the repeated used of "falling" is the integral
part:
a thing i did and am only just picking myself up now,
scraping off the debris and bruises
the sores and scabs
the broken hearts and the broken bones.
trying to gather my life, putting this in the past
putting this in perspective
pushing through to another day
where I SWEAR TO GOD I HOPE IT'S BETTER THAN THE LAST.

if not- struggling will continue and i will be
walking up a hill on a triple digit day, free of water,
raining of sweat and frustration at you and you and you
but mostly me.

to mrs. bukowski
charlie bukowski
sits billowing
in the smoke
and in the stench of alcohol,
sitting in his den of papers
furiously writing and omitting,
swearing and cursing all of your mothers!

forgetting his wife and giving more to art
than he ever could to a woman,
(a lousy actualization for her)

but it's charlie bukowski:
the most unlikable character you've ever known
but you can't understand
why in the hell you like him
and that makes you like him even more.