THIS IS A POEM ABOUT CHEAP BUKOWSKI IMITATIONS AND ISOLATION AND GIANTS WITH EXCLUSIVE SHOULDERS 8.30.17

8.30.17

Reading Bukowski

at six in the morning

a jolt of inspiration took me

and I wrote a poem

right then and there.

.

This is not that poem.

.

That poem was a cheap knock off

and terrible.

.

But

question:

Is or isn’t Bukowski a genius?

Is or isn’t he alright to talk about?

Can I say, Bukowski does me wonders,

he guides my written word

and keeps me going?

.

In any case,

I’d much prefer that they abandon me,

alone

with all these dead white men,

and me spasming like a palsied hand

reading their words

out loud

in fits of schizophrenic ecstasy

.

while the rest of the world

drivels at the mention

of those giants

whose shoulders

I am

too

unworthy

unaware

&

 misguided

to stand upon.


Written at 12:23 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA. 

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