Poems on Charles Bukowski Seeking Friendly Advice

I dwell upon the bluebird,              
and the need to set it free              
can you hear the quiet serenade?              
chirping it's whiskey melody        
       
O' shhh you caroling songster            
deeply buried surrounded by silence          
hidden from the dayward light          
lest her ne'er-do-wells seed violence              
             
I strain to hear the bluebird            
unknown in love only cheap salvation              
devotional thrive by five and dime              
the kind...

While constipation kept me in arrears,
asper daily writing,
  thus ordinarily straight forward
    practiced process culling material,

    (a daily endeavor generally mastered
    by your truly), this moment bares
with more difficulty, thus derriere's
functionality created backlog

    (of personal business),
    hence presenting literary chops,
    a real bummer today,
disgruntlement with Fanny Pack,

    (which gripe flares
cheeks) pitted me considerably
    behind schedule, so...here's
the scoop...

As night slow-gestures from my prose,    
There’s nothing I know that comes close;      
       
The second dumpster to the right,      
And straight on till the morning light.      
       
There’s no sunrise can shed its night,      
A sunset in the throes of flight,      
       
That holds a promise near in debt,      
A mutt that shakes its fur of wet.      
       
As envied as the honored vet:      
He’s known by other prison con      
As zip code two four six O one,      
       
Who...