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Poetry, You’re A Whore (After Bukowski)
Michael S. Walker (copyright 2017)
My sexual needs
Are not being met
Poetry
Forget that
Not even the
Ghost of
Versification Future
I am OK right now
Financially
But that will change soon
And you won’t raise
A finger to help me
When I’m back there
Cursing on the
Killing floor
Just lie on the sofa as usual
Eat...
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Bob Londrigan
Michael S. Walker (copyright 2017)
A reliquary of
Guitar pics...
And machine-head
Bones
(Your eastside apartment)
A tweaker girlfriend
Thin thin as a
\ Stalk of Ohio field corn
Singing your
Assassination
Of Keith Fucking Richards
Your triumphant
Stay at Club No Place
With some country band
Been around now they sound like
Hired players…)
And then
You put your beer down on...
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I just listened to Taylor Swift's Reputation. There are three songs on it that are ABSOLUTE pop masterpieces: Gorgeous, Dress, and New Year's Day. Songs that, as a songwriter myself, make me foam with jealousy. I used to hate Taylor Swift, thinking she was just another pop/country vassal, an empty bauble used by the corporate fascist machine. To an extent that is all true. But...
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Tap Dance
Michael S. Walker (copyright 2017)Shuffle ball change my brother
To Elsie Glassmeier...
Pounding out “Turkey in The Straw”
On the black keys
Of her piano
Shuffle ball change my brother
Toe Taps of adolescent girls
Striking the tiles
In abandoned storefronts
Attics above flower shops
(The ever-shifting campus of
The Johnny Rechel
"Conservatory"
Of Dance)
Shuffle ball change my brother
Every spring...
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Ant Poem
Michael S. Walker (copyright 2017)
I am the same as an ant farm without a queen
Tendrils of tunnels in the blue...
Space-age gel.
Another night of furious digging
Another poetry of nurseries
Another worker carried to the midden
Just waiting
My eventual turn.
You are not coming
You will never ever come
No matter the acids we send out
First Christmas At Your Farm (Another One For Dan)
Michael S, Walker (copyright 2017)
You had no electricity that first Christmas
A tree hooked up to a car battery
And sister and I sat there
In the bones of drywall
Wondering if you had somehow
Gone crazy…
Out in the yard Wyandottes
Roosted in the trees
Bucklings
Rattled in the barn
You had found someone...
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Trying to get together a book of poetry about my brother Dan's death entitled "A Scrapbook of Grief." The poems I have written for it are probably some of the best I have ever written, but so what? Who reads poetry any more? Who reads for that matter? I have other projects I could be concentrating on that might possibly bring me money as a...
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