Fingers of daylight close
like an empty fist.
The city is darker than black.
The day's almost midnight
and secrets have been passed.
Drunken words for a sober mind.
(more) Drunken mind for a sober world.
Blue notes from a jazz cafe
escape into the streets.
The snow was falling,
melting as it landed on our faces
like a gentle rain.
The words falling from our lips
like broken satellites.
We made fake smoke rings
with our breath and watched them
orbit our heads.
The cold cuts like a slow-drawn dagger
regardless of how many layers
we armored ourselves with.
And the cold.
And the words.
And the merrily music.
And the night.
Sometimes the streets gray concrete
creeps up on me.
The night begins to swim.
The moon like driftwood
bobs across the sky,
as my thoughts drift aimlessly to her.
(more) Light she was like a fairy.
And her shoes the number nine.
Her hair, vodka blonde,
spilling over her shoulders.
An enticing smile that could stop a heart.
Now gone she is and there will be no other
just words hanging like a gallows rope.
Her words have weight
Like they could anchor a ship.
How many drinks does it take
To turn memories to ash?
Now, that's some modern day alchemy for ya.
(more) Thin blue puffs of smoke
Dance around the light fixtures.
The haze hangs for a moment
Before tapering off into nothingness.
The night sings like a lullaby.
You can hear the croon
Through taillight eyes
In the darkened barroom.
Her calls like nightingales;
Flying, screeching around my head.
I wonder will they once again
Find perch in my heart?
It gets dark so early this time of year.
The sun sinks away at five.
The children slink away at seven.
The streets bathed in sin and song.
A hemorrhage of light bleeds through the alleyways,
rounding the soft corners near my window.
(more) Midnight croons a moonlight sonata
for the fortunate few
alive enough to see the stars.
Passion and paranoia are all so similar,
like imaginary monsters we chase 'til dawn.
I lie in bed, receding into the haze of evening
like a dream fading to the morning sun.
naked eye winks, easing around the corner.
fabric falling from her shoulders,
burning like day old newspaper.
satan smiles in a satin gown.
dark night bright around the edges
like your eyes around the center.
(more) my book dog-eared on page 32.
it's my favorite Bukowski poem.
the one about the bluebird slowly dying.
I see the vultures circling Penn Street
Rats wear hoods on this side of town
I can’t seem to get my bearings
It’s unseasonably warm for this time of year
But you can feel the cold a-comin’
You can smell it
Your dreams aren’t broken here, but
They did get roughed up a bit
Chewed up and spit out
Ain’t no solitary tap dance tonight
More like solitary confinement
Caught inside the aching tomb of the city
Jitterbugging in the slaughterhouse
Five days ‘til Tuesday and I can see my baby
Eyes like diamonds and an ass that makes me
Fall in love each time she walks away
People say one day I’ll change my tune, but
Until then, this ol’ record will keep on spinning
The way the light hits this town
Makes the shadows look like a bit off
Like they, too, are trying to escape
All the weeds look like dead rats that couldn’t quite
Make it through the cracks in the sidewalk
The wind is blowin’ through the streets,
Blowin’ right through us
The night unfolds like some wicked origami, but
It’s all part of life’s rich pageant
Layin’ on the floor, shirt tails untucked
Trying to rewind the night before
Sippin’ my whiskey, sittin’ through a tongue lashin’
Words bouncing off the four walls of this here apartment
Hate, love, hate, I guess would be the cliff notes of the evening
If you were keeping taps that’s one for and two against
On some foggy autumn night
Peace and quiet (eerily quiet)
Like the gods are just scheming for you
But all we want to do is chew it up and
Swallow it whole,
‘cause the night is just ripe for us all
Shivering replies in the Naugahyde booths
Cold shoulders ‘neath the heated neon
The lights cut like daggers
I’m not drunk, I’m staggering
From the loss of blood (and hope)
(more) There’s a guy at the end of the bar
With a smile like an open sore
A cherry moon floats
In the Vermouth sky
And I’m out of whisky
This, of all nights
Holding up streetlights
Using parking meters as walking sticks
I’m singing in the snow
Like a drunken Fred Astaire
Spilling my whisky and
Waking the neighbors
I’m battling with the booze
But, you can tell by the bruises
That I’m gonna lose
The morning burns
Like split lips and bourbon
The evening disintegrates around us
As the sun creeps out of
A manhole on 32nd street
It reeks of shit and
for the moon to finally rise from slumber.
for the ice to merrily mix with my whiskey.
for the day to finally come to a close.
so precious the time yet we wish it all away,
(more) wish for the weekend when we have all of this before us.
receding. a hairline, a shoreline moving back from the sea.
a heartline, my palm upon your cheek.
listen, you can hear the faintest of whispers.
a moment being transformed into a memory.
I was at the corner of fifth and Vermouth
trying to drown my sorrows,
I didn't know the little bastards could swim.
Smooth, dark wood and dancing neons.
Bottles lined up like dominos.
My words have taken anchor in my throat.
(more) Clinging, bringing
the night down around me
Her words like a sword, slay the day
Dangling from the edge of the world