Beat back Days
like Buk
he
Beat back Rhyme
swallowed whiskey and made flowers
Buk punched hard
gave it cold in the guts
brought home
that there is no warmth
beyond the mean
and no sense regardless
Buk took Shears
to the world
caught smoke
hurled wisdom at walls
Buk eschewed Heart
was home to
holed out tarts
and funeral bells
burning ends
and the drip of taps
the ringing phone
in some hotel in middle america
a fight lost on the street
a train ride through the night
witch souls and queens
heroes and hounds
and Myth
burnt off by dawn
Buk was the Muse
of the forgotten
the hero of the empty
the composer of our drunken waltzes
with death and love
and all the other things we lose
A precious child
A beaten bluebird
And a pockmarked man
I think I would have liked him
And that he would have liked me too.
Loved it except for the last couplet. Went all maudlin and about you. Understand it and feel the same, but still. I met him and he was in a drunken bad mood and he hated my anyhow, actually. Huge Bukowsky fan myself. The rest of the poem was gritty and real. Liked it a lot. Thanks.