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red bar stools

he searched the yellow fingers
that clawed at the truths
beyond her turkey neck

tomorrow he will have forgotten,
remember nothing
beyond bleak eyes

suffocate on whiskey breath
and tainted dreams

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
Last few words: 
inspired by Buk - damnation of recognition
Editing stage: 


I can't get it clear in my own mind whether you are writing about Bukowski, writing inspired by him, or trying to write like him. If the latter, then CB strikes me as being less arcane than this. You have done a great job with atmosphere, yet have left something enigmatic, intangible for us readers to play with. I have to be honest and say I'm not sure if I like it, but you're certainly making me read and re-read it, and that ain't bad so far.


Nah pop no style, a strickly roots.

this actually came about after reading 'damnation of recognition' by Buk
I could never write like him but I do enjoy reading him.
I'm not happy with the last couple of lines but no doubt, I'll fiddle and fiddle again til I have it where I want it to be


"While I'm writing, I'm far away;
and when I come back, I've gone."
— Pablo Neruda

author comment

Ah, I know that one.


Nah pop no style, a strickly roots.

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