Something is wrong with me.

One day, Johnnie will go back to New Orleans. This time. He won't leave no-more.

Something is wrong with me.
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
 Bukowski had stole my soul. 

                  Something is wrong with me…

Something is wrong with me. I am like a Bukowski  poem gone wrong.

Bukowski told us, do what you love, even if you must be alone, you must go hungry, be homeless and know hard days. Go all the way or just become a mountain that don’t move.

I have become the mountain now, never moving, accepting life as-is.

Once I wanted to save my world, write the great novel and live In New Orleans.
Sit near the sea, drink my whiskey and write a Cajun gal love story.

I befallen and I can’t find my real face.
I feel I am becoming more stone and rock than human skin.

Once I drank to feel alive, once I sought war to know I was alive.
Love was never my strength, patience is my enemy and kindness is forgotten.

Bukowski would tell me. “You did a fool’s dance for the rich men.
Skinned off your real face and be-face with liar eyes.
Now accepting, just enough.

Remember Johnnie, never trust a man who doesn’t drink.
Drink the strong whiskey till you can see,
then, your sleepy eyes can be awaken by the taste of the whiskey.
You will see, you are swimming in s**t.”

Something is wrong with me. I have become the Hemingway’s ghost and
I have learn the Salinger heavy sadness.
I need the the city of New Orleans, the jazzy song and polite woman.
I have none of these.

I need to follow Hemingway’s advice. Finish one project and work on one thing only.
End at good open statement so you can find the flow of thoughts again. I need to bleed
to paper.

I met Bukowski once in California in the early nineties in a Tavern. I had a lot of cash and I bought the 
whiskey and we drank. He liked me and he told me, because I didn’t ask dumb questions.
Write hard words, honest words. Make the people feel your suffering. I didn’t know who he was that day. His last words were very cool. He told me,
“You write like s**t, but suffer some more and you will write better.”


Maybe I am where I suppose to be? 
Maybe I wasn’t brave enough?
Maybe I didn’t drink enough?

Maybe on the next bus for New Orleans,
Johnnie can be brave,
find the sea, find the Jazz clubs and become another ghost,
in the city where you can find your real face again.


Dancing Coyote

Author's Note

A re-write.

Reviews

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

I like all the quotes or reference to or from famous poets
Also alas I must admit I’ve never read them
I wish there were more years hours to read

I like your descriptives it gives the mood well and love the whisky etc and jazz reference
Very good indeed !

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Julie for reading and the comment. New Orleans, a haunting city.

[Julie McCarthy (juliespenhere)]

I’ve watched Hollywood old movies most of my life
Grew up with it
These days I prefer older movies still

[Rifatt Mir]

Our struggles make us stronger and better, the key is to keep moving and never settle down for what feels like comfort. Keep chasing who you want to become.

[Coyote Poetry]

I will tried dear Rifatt and thank you for reading and the wonderful comment.