we write only what we know
the verbs wake us, keep us awake
with their incense
they surround us, their incessant
songs waking what once was night
now morning
now lunchtime
we write only of our narrow view
while bukowski paened his whores
and his liquors
we pain only for our shadows
these are not friends, at night i drink with
a hundred acquaintances
while my friend is dead, asleep
all his verbs now gifts to outlines
that remain
* * *
Cleaning out the drafts. Written in late 2008.
Comments (2)
Amazing, Poet! Love these recent three. A revelation of words. Thank you for sharing, for continuing to write. A blessing.
thanks connie. still tweaking some of these but feels nice to get them out. whew.