April 11, 2010

my best bukowski from a barstool

da da da - dot da
is the click of the cue on balls as the soul blues begins
i am back here in the garden
where magic always finds me
luscious ladies and the like
in the darkness that is the bottom for some
a fresch klesch untarnished
by the dirt and grime of gutter affairs
this type of debauchery is for pleasure
nothing else, unless the current is right
and then we never really can say where we will end
i am so very quiet inside
first time in some while as this mania feels like its been on me forever
that energy can be so very fun and useful
but also so very destructive
of my sweet jimmie brown, what else do you have
to say tonight in the din of dusk and video poker
i want to say so much and i hope i get to see you tonight
yet this conversation is always really with myself
i am here cause i like to watch
its my art, to write or capture that which i see
in you, in me, what i want to say is us
what i want to be, is us
what i want to feel is you, is love, is us
i always lead with the heart until i do not
you always wear yours on your sleeve
somehow i think that makes us so very similar
maybe you think it is so very much the opposite
i feel i will never know, yet beautiful, for you, for me
for a shot at a beloved future
i will forever try, i will forever endeavor to be worthy of you
yet love, i ask the same of you
endeavor to the love i bring you or we will never start
i walk sometimes to remember, sometimes to forget
i can usually see the path in the street
but tonight the concrete leads me to Kelly's
back to where i first met you
back to where i first fell in love with you
a love song for an inked doll
that is what i write for, for you, for me
for an opportunity that is us in a future
not quite defined - no expectations
that is the rule of a stable mania
melancholy and joy is what comes
with no expectations
sitting again on a bar stool
i cannot define, i cannot see more than three feet in front of me
not because i am blind, but because what else is there beyond this brittle space
this stool and the warm beer, cold women
you know Waits knows it so well
barflys and hipster's, bohemians till the end
i saw that LA was no better than my beloved rose city
but portland is better than anywhere else i have been
anywhere else i want to be
this city has you, it has me
it can and loves to celebrate us
no expectations, no regrets
but i can still feel this melancholy
for i write to forget,
just like i drink to remember and i drink to forget
so it goes for the poet and artist who lives in the mania
my life is always this burnt orange affair
an episode of some day time special where the kid
we all want to win, perpetually loosed in tragedy
the punk in me says "ah FUCK it"
you are a hottie and that is what i need,
the comfort of a stranger to swim in for awhile
i live in the day for those moments in the night
its one of the only places i fit
a love song for an inked doll
these words are my confessional
pheromones make the whores moan or so the bohemian
sex kitten behind me says
no love, i have no taste for this skirt chasing anymore
there is no joy in the penchant for the divine
where i used to love the pursuit,
now it bores my soul to death
i am so desperately sad for this thought
that only pervades a melancholy
when my new paints come in i will not go out for months
all those canvas' to express my love
unrequited love from a barstool
oooh, another book title, the follow up album to a love song for an inked doll
the companion volume
i am such a cynical fuck for all those words that i write
that's a fucking yummy white russian he poured for the old man next to the soda water
maybe i am just to old to be doing this
playing this game for all the little hipsters
just barely old enough to hold a drink - laughing -
i love this mockery and melancholy that pervades my punk soul
for i was born of a cynic in a time midway through the post sixties love fest
before my dad had loaded bombs on planes and body bags off helos
it was the opposite of hippie love
you are a doll!
do you know that, in this absence of anything else to say
i will refer to the day one of our meeting
just keep pissing it away
this storybook you always write as a tragedy
hannah says the words should flow
me loves me some ink
let me scooch your armrest
thank god the betties are arriving
how my night and flashback to you are complete
but i do not feel so sad anymore
enough beer and a pretty lady in conversation are enough
that for this temporary moment i can forget all this melancholy
i am going to talk to you after i smoke - so says B to the chemist
my kinda crazy doll who i love for she is the same crazy as me
this is the debauchery of my life
oh, the first fishnets of the night
thank you for this dream

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