Pens litter the floor like carrion of dead poets
who still feed passion to hungry minds.
I wasted ink trying to build a fire.
Words teased with sparks, but they cooled into
drinking sarcasm with Bukowski’s ghost
and making paper planes out of crumpled words
I mined from a thesaurus.
I, too, thought that this image just screams Bukowski.
ReplyDeleteOh my paper planes where a lot lighter... yours were rook black bats.
ReplyDeleteThis one very much feels like a Bukowski poem. I love how that gorgeous middle line about wasting ink to build a fire sort of ties the stanzas together with a hopeless gasp. Well done, Susie and viva la.
ReplyDeleteMy goodness this is absolutely exquisite!!❤️ I especially love and admire; "I wasted ink trying to build a fire."
ReplyDelete"but they cooled into/drinking sarcasm with Bukowski’s ghost": I love this!
ReplyDeleteThis is a dark one, Susie, and I love it, especially ‘paper planes out of crumpled words / I mined from a thesaurus’.
ReplyDelete"Words teased with sparks ..." and cooling, ... I understand the cooling, wasted energy. I pride myself in paper airplane making, I've won prizes. And I hate to waste words. Good mixing these and more together for a fun read.
ReplyDelete..
I just love, love, love the thought of words drinking sarcasm with with a ghost.
ReplyDeleteI so love the poem.. the middle line still stands out for me. I also really enjoy the inclusion of Bukowski's ghost.
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