Sifting Through Madness

Bukowski reminds us of the
paralleling number of poets
and whores that have
existed through time.

There are
thirty-six
of each
who matter
and the rest
are left
wallowing.

Poets and whores -
and/or one in the same.
I have no jokes, no witty comments,
no history of knowledge to pull out
when the time has come.
I have no friends, just liars,
and I have no peace.

I listen well and I know;
I have hair that shines when I will it,
and a smirk to always give
But I do not fit into categories,
bored, fearless, dared, or blessed,

And it will rain tonight regardless:

Poets and whores will both wear the rain.