Just a Bukowski Tonight

let’s cut through it
I’m just a man, nothing more
and the way you did your eyes tonight is sexy

the shape of your face reminds me
of a girl I used to know
someone who used me

not her fault, I deserved it
she was sexy too
so is your face


I can’t tell the shape of your body
but I’m sure it’s a bit of all right

I’m not a poet tonight
I’m just a Bukowski
without the books

just a dirty, old man
with stubble, and resentment
for anyone with anything less
than vagina
or booze
to offer




The cross I bear across my brow for thee
Makes up the cloth which sees me through the storm
And in the faintest moments of my glee
Adds paint and pain-ed pallor to my form
The world around makes light of who we are
It mocks the very essence of the soul
In pale parade perfection moves to mar
And chip away the fragments from the whole
Through all the sorry, soulless, crass attacks
The beauty beyond sight beckons my ear
To bend toward a sound I hope attracts
A lovely new existence to me here
Can love exist in places such as this?
Or am I doomed to roam bereft of bliss?

this place needs a grump

haul yourself, sticky and unyielding, from the womb of sleep
it’s barely midnight
dreams were clingy and horrible
babysitting grown people drowning in chaos
need a drink
throw on a wrap and walk to the taproom
slide onto a leather perch at the end of the bar
take in the people:
four acting student types near the door
trying hard to sound stylish
a trio of business casuals
whose table boasts of salad bowls and martini glasses
a crowd of sleeveless muscle cars in the back
just finished some big job
happy couples abound in the bar
clad in their post beach attire
skins beaming and lightly browned
spirits spiked with rum and sun-bathed
the air inside is giddy
the music is motivated and driven
the bar pulsates with youthful zeal
I know immediately what must be done:
I power down my first beer
and wave for the tender
something stronger and keep them coming
I need to get drunk
no time for smiles
last call is just around the corner and there’s work to be done
I’m not here to be pleasant
to twitter and giggle with these dumb young
to gush about the sun and fun
this place is overflowing in such things already
it’s saturated with good vibes in yuppie central Vancouver
energy and youthful exhuberance are never hard to come by
what this place lacks is a curmudgeon
a grump
a loner
someone off to the side
something to take the edge off
a taste of reality
sticky and unyielding
peppering this happy room with seasoned boredom
all these pretty, shiny things can be exhausting
the world always needs a loner like me
to balance the scale

being saved

once again
this suffocating sea of shit
has come close to stealing
my breath
once more
she gives me hope
the promise of beauty
a prospect of happiness
I’m beginning to get used
to this
not accustomed to having an angel
just my self, my hate
and a bottle
stewing in the dark
visited by memories and regrets
she tells me I’m not alone
at least, I don’t have to be
she will share my bottle
share my darkness
hear my regrets and memories
temper my hate
I could get used to this
to being saved
to not being alone
it’ll be a stretch
but maybe I can handle it
certainly I hope so
because I think
I like being saved
much more then
being damned

alone again

here I sit
single again
alone in the universe
for a while, though, I can fool myself
and connect
I’ve found another
together we can bond
be happy in silence
be not alone for a while
until we kiss
say good-bye
the bliss leaves with her
my life goes on without her
I am once again alone
single again in the world
the music sucks and all I want is another drink


the father crouches in the dark, naked
the skin splits apart and the son emerges
out of the father’s back
the son rises, looks around in sadness
post-birth loneliness
he knows not what he has to do
the son ventures into the streets – still headless
and dripping wet
people shove by – fast – too fast – can’t keep up
the son dodges a car, horns blare
he finds refuge on the other sidewalk
the son stands by a bus stop and then meets
the blind woman, she is beautiful, and she reaches
reaches out tenderly, lovingly
to him
he, the son, takes her hand
the blind woman raises her other hand to touch
his face
but she finds nothing
her smile fades and her hands fall limp
she walks away
the son cannot move for a long time, except
to reach his arms out to the air in hope
she will run back into them

sleep alone

pass me up, look me over, let me go
deny my love and send me away
continue this madness that slowly eats you
give up one who would love you
sleep alone

cry alone without wiping your tears
show me the lines on your face
live a life – half-living – dying every day
wash yourself of every trace of me
sleep alone

keep yourself in pride, hope, sadness
keep yourself locked apart
place me outside and never let me in
have a life, a love, a mind
have my life, my love, my mind

give it all up
let me go