From the anthology, Scenes From the Cerebellum, a work in progress. This poem comes from the Charles Bukowski school of writing.
Under This Azure October Sky Still cruising here, Still hunkering here under this azure October sky Still breathing here, Still suffocating here, inside this hair dryer which covers my head. Still surviving here, Still perspiring here, outside, in the mad hot jungle called life. Still riding here, Still traveling here, through all these lingering avenues of time-spent days, the remembering boulevards of months, the forgetting hi-ways of years. Still moving here, through these wild inexorable hours, of devouring events and digesting memories, of searching for the unobtainable, somewhere, inside a forgotten chest, containing nothing. Still traveling here, Still traipsing here, into the busy peopled shops where the living never look into your eyes. Still digesting here, Still listening here, to the final words of the wise ones, the superior ones, the dead ones. Still dreading here, the final breath, the final heartbeat, the climaxing stare, the last look. Still cruising here, Still riding fast into the tunnel of love. Still missing here, old ghostly friends, some gone to the grave, some gone the way of the day's druthers. Still missing the dead here, all swallowed into the breath of the wind, digested in an instant of collapsing time. Still riding low here, Still kicking back here, under this azure October sky.
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