Henry who?

my friends 
call me
murphy
i am a
writer 
a poet
i like
to say
because
it sounds
so much better
than bum 


i love poetry
but i am no
Charles Bukowski 

i truly 
like to 
drink &
fight &
fuck but
Bukowski
i am not

i use simple words
in my work and try
not to hide behind
some grandiloquent
vernacular however
Bukowski & me not
the same

i find myself 
staring out
depressive
hot
california 
window as 
did he but

i am a young-man
mid-thirties and
ready to drink &
drug 
fuck
fight
till the sun 
changes the mood 
he lived it once
& now he is dead
Charles Bukowski
is dead
and i

i call
internet radio
shows to breath 
a little life 2
words written 
before i was
the sperm that
could
Charles is dead


i have many 
things in 
common with
the late great
Charles Bukowski
we are two very
different
animals


he is a notably 
published author

me a recluse who
spare-changeless
for beer & smoke

i have internet porn
Bukowski didn't even
own a word processor 

i write sometimes on my
antique royal typewriter 
staring at naked maiden
lying in wait beside me
i get to fuck her later
and Charles you are dead

So here is to you
Charles Bukowski
may my words ring
from wherever they
are being read all
the way to your 
grave letting you
know one of your
fans
a poet
will fuck tonight
and remind you
that you are
still dead   

zealousness

zealousness

   I

brought 

    out

    for 

    you 

some of

my mind

breaking

off bits

to share

  little

   looks

  inside

the economy 

is   shit

the job markets

tanked

the ways

I am use to 

to get by

     gone

  oil is

spoiling

the Gulf
   major
media is
 telling
    lies
politics
     are
business
as usual

the economy 
   is shit
did i mention
that before

hey
  is
this
thing
on
can you hear me 

  oil is
spoiling
the Gulf
the job
market
has
tanked
people
   are
upset & politics
are business as
usual


we have 
printed
paper dollars
with no backing
money less useful
then the page that
this was written


are you listening
can you hear what
i am saying


i ain't 
never
ate
at no
place
named
Pete's Fine Foods
off highway 66 in
Gallup, New Mexico

i damn sure
never tried 
their Char-glo
chops or 
broiled
steaks
not
 once
have i sat
to enjoy a
cocktail in
Pete's Fine Foods
 Cocktail Lounge
 open 5am till 
 midnight down
 in Gallup, NM
off highway 66


major
media
is telling
lies about
everything


people
pretending 
that it will
be okay just
for a moment
of rest 
because

  oil is
spoiling
the Gulf
the economy 
 is shit &
 i can't
find a job

hey
is this working
are you people
able to
hear me  




     B
     A 
     N
     G
     !


    From out 
  of nowhere 
 he explodes
  collateral
      damage
unmeasurable
heads turn to
evaluate but
conscious
rendering
is futile
you run 
the image 
sticks
to you 
like
napalm
     melting
you stop
drop and
roll but
the drugs
haven't 
kicked
in & you
may have
just landed
in dog shit
so all i am
saying is

  media lies
 politicians
misrepresent 
money means
nothing
unless
you have
none & i
can't
find
a
moth
erfu
ckin'
 job




 

beholden

beholden

I have a vivid
imagination
the other day 
I was sitting
with the late
David Lerner
having coffee
the two of us
in a dirty 
 quiet
  two tabled
off the main street
hole-in-the wall
slice of heaven
sipping stories
sharing scones
he was laughing 
pointing toward
the headlines
of yesterdays 
newspapers 
telling me
men will
never learn
I tried 
to explain
blogging
and how 
everyone
is a poet
he spit coffee
out his nose
told me 
to pay the tab 
then
we both went our separate ways

qualm

qualm

its great how this booze
makes this valium work

its funny how this valium
makes my lips feel on the
end of this cigarette



 There is no sign of moon tonight
 Young couples chasing each-other
 I know what its like to be alone
 And I sip with an unspoken toast



its fantastic that my mind 
can still work this pen
while my brains swimming
in oceans with the ghosts
of how i find myself here

agitprop

I am
  a
 true
 blue
yankee

die-hard
red sox 
fan so
please
forgive
my 
ignorant
tongue it 
knows
not
what
it
does
and
i
am
fine
with 
that
its I
just
want
you
to
know
now
I  
 can
     move on

I once asked
if scooby doo
knew how to
transform 
into a 
gi joe
now I 
know
I should
have
asked
perhaps
if him
and those
medeling-kids
could pull the
mask off the 
conductor of
this rail-car
we are all in
headed stright
to a place we
aint coming 
back from  &
I want to know
who is driving 


so
lets
go
diego
go

reach
into
that
backpack
 backpack
  backpack
and pull-out
a map showing
us the hell we
are headed for
  Its No WonderPets
 there are millons
 of animals in 
 trouble
 and there
 just isn't
 engough
 flying
 turtles
 to save
 the ones
 dying off
 our Gulf 
 Shores
  I know cause
Dora just got back 
from a three week
expedition & after
she briefs our
commander and chief
he will summons
press to the rose
garden in an attempt 
to raise stock prices
forcing the focus off 
unemployment but even
the great
inspector
clouseau
can see clearly
that there aint 
no employment


so wouldn't
it be cool
if everyone
reached out to
a representative
of our elected
government
and with a
firm hand shake
slap the bastard
across the face
get charged with
assault & battery 
spend some time in
jail knowing that
you held someone
accountable for
all the tom-foolery 
that goes on in DC
are you
still
with me

[to be continued]

preview of [sic] & tired Vol. I

what if
 
sitting alone on the park bench of life
waiting for the bus of opportunity
it occurs to me that maybe just maybe
it has passed maybe i missed it
oh i could sit here and complain
talk to passer byes about the weather
talk about whatever sports has clouded our main stream media
or even the news
i could sit here and scowl at the passer byes smiles
put a hat on the ground
talk to myself
bitching about the good ol' days
back before the bus left me here
cold &
alone
i could sit here and wait quietly
 

wait
i could stand up
make my way to the next bench
talking to myself along the way
when i get there
i will smile
i will laugh
i will wait
 

wait
what if the bus still dosent come
what if there are no passer byes for me to gock at
what if the paints wet and i cant sit
what if the what ifs have kept me from catching the bus this whole time
a choice made in stone
i decide to gather my things
removing myself from this
cold
hard
bench
looking up long enough to see it headed toward me
parting the fog was my bus

 

 

anti-cheer

I got me two fists full of hate

my fuck you flags flying high

beer is warmer then my heart

a lawless soul

come get some

three deep breaths

 yes

i've been told one and one make three
folded the best hand for fear of the river
tossed caution out with the trash & clouds
looked long and hard into a mans weakness
and

i am still here

yes

i've been on the brightest side of fate
kicked down the door of strange just to peek
locked horns with that fucking silver surfer
missed my mark falling flat on my ass
and

i am still here

yes

i've been up down left behind right wrong
blamed others for faults i find only in myself
burned both ends of the candle time after time
climbed to the highest perch just to say i did
and 

i am still fuckin' here

yes

i fear for my future 

because

i am still here