Brass Immortals Swinging
Peyote punk for naked girls swinging
’round shined brass poles for $205.00, thongs,
Bikini pants hot and snorts of cocaine.
45 and I am bent, spiraling toward the morbid cross, hanging
For the faithful, not me, the coffee man, I must drink coffee
The dread coffee like the naked girls swinging pushing their
Asses flabby behind their shaved river pint thighs where I do not need them. I once drove up the sidewalk
To park before a strip bar at noon with a madman in a van.
Delicious I am born furrowed like Cochise
On a mountain.

wow! this poem was awesome. It sent all sort of wild images through my mind. very intense. Thanks for sharing
What a marvelous response to hear.
Thank you very much.
This reeks of wonder! especially the rawness and courage of your style. I never imagined strip club goers as poets!
Ha-Ha. I was demented once or twice.
bukowski here we go…liking it.
My. Mucho. Mucho. Thanks. My Man Bukowski.
this poem rocks. raw, honest, and has a mature arc to it. really, really good.
Thanks, Mary. Hope you are not saying that just because I like your stuff so much. Mucho thanks again.
tim, i am not one to exaggerate, especially not to some random guy on wordpress, a guy i’ve never even met! i admit to being aware of your poetry because of our conversation about writing and publishing – just paying attention…
Oh cool thanks.