You Are a Bukowski Soul: An Ode

...don't worry, but you are screwed

And you thought you wanted the yellow,
but you forgot you have a Bukowski soul


you thought leaving would be the solution
but you knew, didn't you?
that life is grey
so this pursuit of black and white is always futile?


now you are here
and it is struggle all the same
but sweeter, where the realities of an 8 hour job
don't make you uncomfortable
Bukowski said so, didn't he?


he also once called love
a dog from hell
and you cannot agree more:
the truth transcends time zones and geographies


but you are a hero,
just like Bukowski at the post office
lack of, and yet inspiration,
and so tragedy permeates your life,
for which the story
is under production


took you long, didn't it?
long enough to realise what it was, you were after
It just eludes you, doesn't it?
what do you think can cure this malady?


cure you say, is a far-cry
and bring in humour to cope
because you remember Bukowski telling you
to laugh at the odds
something about death trembling at the life you lived



the touch conspicuous by its absence
the letters undelivered
words unsaid, emails not sent
is the fleeting tragedy you can drink to.

but bottles won't suffice to undo

the evil magic of this lack

in five years' time


and you thought you wanted the yellow,
but you forgot you have a Bukowski soul
greys are all you need, greys are all you want, greys are all you will ever have.