The Busted Engine Reality

I’m Bukowski’s left nut spraying

near impotent literary detritus

all over the web.

Tyler Durden’s industrious schizoid

fingers clawing the walls

of this classroom while dreaming

of exploding buildings that will

free me from this dead soul’s job.

Mac and the boy’s shaky DDT’s

trying to Old Tennis Shoe drown another

set of newly assembled bad memories.

And Dr. Gonzo’s one last coke-fueled shotgun

blast “fuck you” to the world before

John Boy blasts his ashes into the eternal

Freakdome.

The greats, dead and imaginary, probably laugh at

my pathetic mimicry, but I will still claw these

black and unique words from my cranium even if the

effort results in naught.