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 thereafter
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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