Contemplation

Just a poem inspired by the work of Charles Bukowski

Life cannot be

squandered,

wasted,

carried away like dust in a storm

.

It must be lived, conquered,

seized. After all,

Carpe Diem.

 

Right?

 

But how does one,

meaning myself,

live?

 

The world is a cruel place,

Full of hatred and

pain and

heartache.

How do I find the

Life?

 

Is it in the heated pressure of

a kiss?

In the rainforests of the

Amazon

where trees reach toward the sky?

In the icy shock of a needle’s

releasing brush?

In the unrelenting wanting?

In the danger so near

death that you can feel his hands

reach toward you?

 

A delivery room, a birthday party,

a wedding, a funeral, a café,

a restaurant, a small town,

a big city, a mountaintop,

an ocean floor, on the corner?

 

Or in the shower?

Where I’m thinking about this.