Someone suggested

there was a gentle canary

singing sweetly in my soul

but it was buried beneath

all the chaos & debris;

that it was drown 

in a mix of booze & madness

anxiously trying to be heard

but beaten down

by the surface intensity

and they claim I care

more than I really do—

well sometimes I do,

but it’s all out of hand

and I can’t help but feel

it’s somewhat overrated

I’ll just pass myself

another round of java

and maniacally run

thru the gauntlet

there’s always other feelings

& other visions

of these vanquished times

that go on too long

the drum beat is calling

there is no melody humming

along to the darkness

It gets to be

a bit too much at times

but I’ve learned

never to listen to the pundits.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

clearly influenced by Bukowski's poem "Bluebird"

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