Mouth like Bukowski

An old Poem of mine: Mouth like Bukowski The sun crept up behind the tree line we rose like zombies from the grave cotton mouthed and disappointed just another day of errant madness slaving to make filthy men rich instead of rich men filthy

I used to be a poet…

I used to write poetry. That was my thing. It started with lyrics back in my rock n roll days [insert uncomfortable "really?" chuckle here], then when that turned into a flaming wheelbarrow full of turds and blame, I changed gears...