Monday, 30 June 2014

Love is a Dog From Hell/ Bukowski Reimagined.

Bukowski reimagined.
Because he may have been my favourite drunk and because I want to hang out with him.
Maybe he would say achingly obvious, wise things or maybe he would be crabby and Neruda would laugh at us both.

The Crunch maybe one of his finest works, so here's my not so fine interpretation of what it would look like today.


there is an emptiness inside her so great
that you can see it in the furious movement of
a thumb scrolling down a fluorescent screen.

people so fevered
either by all the Likes or none at all.

people are just not good to each other.

people don't make sense of each other
across a table
or notice brown, lit-up freckles on a rounded nose
without the affirmation of a #nofilter #tbt.

the Instagrammers are not good to the Bloggers
the Snapchatters are not good to the texters.

we are afraid.

Steve Jobs tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.

he hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place

unspoken to

waiting for a notification.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be. I don't ask them to be.

But sometimes I think about it.

The computers will suffocate, brunches will no longer be chronicled
and the world will snap into two along a fault-line where the DSL wires are buried deep.

too many too little.
too active too much of a troller too nobody.

more logged in than in love.

people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our newsfeeds would be less cluttered.


(because my poetry is messed up prose, really. And read if you haven't)

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