MOD Pizza Wish Me Luck - #NaPoWriMo22 Day 12

When I think of the
poetry of Charles Bukowski,
I always picture him
reading, writing, and, well,
drinking in the shadows of
a dive bar somewhere in
Los Angeles. It’s one of
those bars that stands alone.
Perhaps the building on one
side of it burnt down
years ago. The other side?
A fenced off abandoned
lot. It’s that kind
of place where a couple
of strangers are huddled in the
dark doorway sharing a
smoke. The jukebox is
broken, and the bartender
couldn’t possibly care about
your troubles. But I never,
and I mean never, have
imagined Bukowski pulling
up in his old jalopy into
the parking lot of a busy
stripmall in the suburbs. A
stripmall that contains—
inexplicably—well, a
dive bar. Where the people
sharing a smoke aren’t
huddled in the dark. Rather
they stand on a sidewalk
shared by a Starbucks
(on one side) and a T-Moble
on the other. Something
tells me that it’s
not the kind of place
that could produce some
of the most misogynistic
poetry possible. That’s
gotta be a good thing.


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I’ve been on a freight train today, you? - #NaPoWriMo22 Day 11 When it’s a whirlwind, it’s a whirlwind. What else might you expect when you pile on and on and on? Don’t pretend you didn’t ask for this. You just
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The manual you thought was handed out that day you were sick - #NaPoWriMo22 Day 13 First thing’s first, stretch. Get some water—hydrate. Move a little more. The body’s. made for it, needs it. Next, stillness. Make time for it.