When ALL we can do is WRITE

“Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.”
― Charles Bukowski


Sometimes I wake

with a song in my heart

prompted by a hearty summons of nature

toot tooting down the hall

pontificating its departure

to the porcelain god

like the conductor on an express train.


Disturbed soon afterwards

by mindfulness and that first cup of JOE


by a rich heaping tablespoon

of medicine from the media

a slow and steady demoralization

similar to  being assimilated by the BORG.


And later

upon reflection

I concede,

as cattle

quickly lulled and

herded by the steady

Yippie yi yo kayah

being led to slaughter

tunneling reality

transfixed by nothing at all.

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