
Plastering The Interweb With Fragmented Thought

She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire
I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind
I want nothing more than to have you
To have you dependent upon my words
To have you drunk on my inspiration
I want to be the writer you always preferred
There are many fancy writers
Those who are great, they’ve decided
Elegant illustrations & plunging necklines
But hubris is often one-sided
There are many arrogant writers
Quick with the wit they’ve decried
Moans of pain suited to their fame
Loving with one eye open it’s often implied
I have a secret
Scribbling in the margins
The poetry of opera halls
Burning drinks of gargled sin
A letter to the editor
Words chosen for us tonight
The opinions of a fool
With only a pretty girl left to recite
Stayed up all night trying to write
I still can’t get you out of my head
Sleep didn’t come easy this night
Giving anything to only go to bed
The clock ticks past two & three
Knowing there’s nothing I’m going to find
Off dreaming of nothing, where I want to be
Another scotch to still my racing mind
Image by Florian Pircher from Pixabay
Hanging with crazy, creative types
They spin your mind in awkward ways
Melding simple ideas into revolutions
Expanding out into our civilian days
They’re different by their very nature
Never able to hide within society
Changing the world with each thought
Their beauty laced with inherent piety
Hanging with suspicious writers
An overly socialized troop
Collectively creating
An emotionally battered group
Pondering word placement
& the value of existence
The quiet utility of thought
Inspiration compounding persistence
“How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.”
― Henry David Thoreau
“We are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter.”
― Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems
“Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”
― Margaret Chittenden
“Some writers confuse authenticity, which they ought always to aim at, with originality, which they should never bother about.”
– W.H. Auden