I can be a bastard. I can be a piece of shit. I can be a combative little devil. I can be a pervert. I can be a shadow.
By Michael Butorovich24 days ago in Poets
I have this entire garage to myself. 20 minutes to midnight. { I’ll be back in the kitchen tomorrow At 3PM. { Until then I get to be alone
I get to work in a kitchen for 8 hours A day washing off dishes, equipment And sometimes prep food on a full time Basis with life and medical benefits.
By Michael Butorovich25 days ago in Poets
I gave Orlando a small reading in The last few minutes I had on break. “I feel your poems are so relatable” He commented once I finished.
By Michael Butorovich28 days ago in Poets
The April wind makes the trees sway. { Out of 23 poems I will write for This chapbook you are viewing #18 { I’m sober thinking of my fathers
It is now another night Where the chance to make Something of myself Is present- { { By most mornings I’ll
The dream is flying out to Florida At any time and hitting Miami. Rolling up to a club with a ball Of cash. Drinks, drinks, drinks,
Another day rolls into night. { Another night will tumble Over into morning. { Morning will be another Day to live through.
No longer can I sit down And feel strange to Myself. { Today is like any day. { Our eyes open and it’s Either knowing what to do
By Michael Butorovich29 days ago in Chapters
I would tell her the only Thing I believed in Was the grave. Which was true And much more real when I was drunk and fucked up.
By Michael Butorovich29 days ago in Poets
I don’t know why the bottle slipped. I can try to think about it and find Various reasons as to why I lost my grip, But the simple fact is neither of us
By Michael Butorovich2 months ago in Poets
She said she wouldn’t leave But we all say that sort of thing. Mabe cause we didn’t realize we weren’t Looking past the moment, and all the