bukowski said it was a circus

for all the misfits & the misanthropes, the great-mistake-makers, the second- (or-tenth-or-last-)chance-takers, the late bloomers & the revolutionaries, for the bartenders & the barflies, for the good guys who never finish, for the addicts & the survivors of all the violences of this gorging, greedy, gluttonous world, for the childless mothers & the orphans of all … Continue reading bukowski said it was a circus

When You Mean to Write a Poem

It is impossible to write poetry after you've spent the morning drinking over-compensated, half-decaffeinated coffee &  held in your breath for three Bukowski poems in succession;   even when the air & your lungs are sticky-thick with prose & Cannabis and your disconnected fingers scratch all the falling words onto Post-It-Notes --   (You know … Continue reading When You Mean to Write a Poem

It Was My Favorite Necklace

Until you so loosened me with insignificance, then with the half-moon of stars dangling, barely daring to glimmer about my neck; about to fall madly, again closed those blue, blue darkroom hands with your inked veins, pulsing about my neck; You kept me throat-tight in silence for years. I won't wear any necklaces now. -B.