Bukowski, or: Runoff

The next line is the worst garbage He snorts this Curse nursing it for the worse as Synapses across lobes stretch for one Another crackling in the charge Of words; bursting thoughts Powder trail across dots As shot through two barrels He's being held Over one bound by metal heaving Retching Wretched bromide He snorts… Continue reading Bukowski, or: Runoff

No man, or: Eucalyptus

A haibun 'No man is an island' must be one of the most well-known clichรฉs in the book. I mean, sure, it's fundamentally true in a technical sense - almost no person on Earth is entirely self-sufficient when it comes to the food (s)he eats or the clothing (s)he wears. But something so resoundingly self-evident… Continue reading No man, or: Eucalyptus