Thursday, May 26, 2016

Mr Poet-Laureate of the Bleeding-Heart

i read bukowski
he didn't write till he was in his thirties
did not write poetry till he was in his forties
wasn't published until he was in his fifties
but he lived
suffered taunts on his disfigured face
and wrote
and wrote some more
and one day-
they saw his poems
and other stories-
it came like the flood
they drowned in his words
couldn't save their heads
the old fucker kept raining-
they couldn't ignore this toughened old buck
he just wouldn't give a fuck
this roughened man of the streets
who typed-
and delicate
who lived his words
worded his life
a non-negotiable entity
a non-participant of the great American Democracy
a nightmare of the American Dream
they called him the Poet-Laureate of Dirty Realism
The Dirty Streets
The Back Alleys
The Cheap Motels
The Shady Bars
as if it was something abstract-
a literal-oddity
a cultural-footnote
a backhanded compliment
a condescending handshake
a tip to rid the doorman-
from a review in a prestigious journal
based in New York
so i guess they lived in the Big Apple-
in skyscrapers
perhaps central park
maybe penthouses
along fifth ave.
maybe park st.
amidst the glitterati
highbrow society
killing time
exchanging oddballs from the underground
discussing down in the dumps poetry
of Charles Hank Bukowski
calling him-
mr ugly
mr asshole
mr barfly
mr factotum
mr postman
mr fucker
mr boozer
mr brawler
mr yellow-teeth
mr loser
mr waster
mr drifter
mr horse-racing-betting face
mr broke-
true names for a man who was also-
Mr Lover
Mr Carer
Mr Sentimental
Me Lonesome
Mr Considerate
Mr Soft
Mr Sorrow
Mr Kind
Mr Human
Mr Blood
Mr Poet-Laureate of the Bleeding-Heart
Mr Handsomely Ugly

Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!

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