i'm feeling fablish again. mama must've given all her twigs away & sniffed all her no-doz ups.
there was a trucker with a baby & the baby said, trucker, & the trucker said, daddy, and the baby said, drive, and the trucker said, jesus, & pulled into a truck stop & berryman's ghost was there & berryman's ghost thought he was henry chinaski.
& bukowski's ghost was there & bukowski's ghost thought he was sade.
& you thought mama was gonna say bukowski was all huff henry. & not marquis de, dummy, but this sade. this sade is bukowski's ghost & this reminds mama of when she was living in AZ with a methhead and an artist and a bisexual seaman & this is not a joke...
no, she was living with the ex-boyfriend of the bisexual seaman; mama had a crush on the bi seaman.
sade makes mama want to make love, & bukowski makes mama want to fuck. or maybe sade makes mama wants to bang & bukowski makes her want to cuddle.
is there any difference? really? except words?
just like all those people that try to define art. hmm. yep yep.
art is my truck stop where the baby asks questions like what's up, trucker, & where's my egg sandwich? where the cashier's drunk on red bulls & vodkas & she's got squiggles of coke coming out her nose but she ain't high on it cos life's a motherfucking balancing act & she hit the redbull/vodka combo a little too hard & even the baby notices but the trucker's thinking maybe he can hit that when mama's not looking & mama's woodsman outside in the parking lot alone.
he has burned the twigs & given away the heart.
he has to return to the queen empty-handed this time.
he is thinking about rogozoving his own heart out...
the ghosts are flying in & out of the truck stop beer cave. bukowski's all silken as sade & henry chinaski always wants a piece. always. even when he's shitting. even when he's sleeping. right now he's floating floating and trying for palpable. she flies in between his legs & through. she sings something as she swoops around & her hair is long & she is beautiful and then she's gone. in the beery vapours. gone.
your fairytale mama,
p.s. thanks to Anna Nimh, aka Tina Hyland, for teaching me something about appendixes & surgeonal fortitude today (aka rogozov)...