Sad Flower In The Sand – John Fante (documentary)

99% fractured glass

letterman taught liberal arts

bukowski master of the open portal

that caught flies and dirty blondes ,

there where no country estates

or manicured ladies in crinolene,

too much hubbub

and relentless spiral of those

who live in such an octopus town,

that solar flares light the street

and guide those whose frail stories

stumble over awkward words

and metaphor,

master of bliss

with shimmering teeth

and boiling stench caught on

warmer breeze

vigilant for kisses and erotic

composure,

severed happiness from tears

and kept each separate,

behind the doors of our octopus

town the withered languish

robbed of enchanted loins

and their tears now crystallized

as rings for deaths fingers,

clotted souls clogged

as choked diaphragms coughed and

hacked sluices of phlegm,

the doors opened for a moment each day

quick enough for a shadow to be

flung out,

madness was a bomb on every street corner,

diffused as she appeared,

her deceit to entice

and enchant,

womb of silken flotsam

carried nothing hopeful,

yet her heart once orphaned

brought a rising sun

that closed the portal

to bukowski’s dismay

letterman fell aside victim

to iron skies and sanities rent,

heal deep she called

finding it broken

and lambs put together the pieces

with a well chewed glue

Bukowski

 

“An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.” ~Charles Bukowski (Life)

 

you

yes you

do your eyes taper to my face

or the liquor before me,

you judge

prejudge any damn way,

just listen

yes you

i have no limitations

only what you try to put upon me,

i am the sunshine

you might never see again,

the places

you visit at the bottom of

the hour,

let me be there

somewhere inside,

with my face,

my words,

my name

and remember me