Tim Lynch (tlynch@clovis.esd171.wednet.edu) has appeared often in RealPoetik before.




I drank with Charles Bukowski.
It was at a party in a
Small house with
Worn wood-planked siding
The color of silver-grey rain clouds
In Ducktown,
A dilapidated five-house suburb of
Rosilyn, Washington.
He was sitting in the
Kitchen on a concrete floor
Next to the avocado-green refrigerator.
A lone, dim-yellow 40 watt light bulb
Hung from a white ceramic socket in the
Ceiling, illuminating nothing
But the darkness.
His face, pervertedly pocked,
Looked like a topographic map
Of The Craters of the Moon;
His clothes, a blood-stained white t-shirt,
And brown polyester pants,
Covered a bone-thin frame.
"I'm writing a poem,"
He slurred.
In his weathered hand
Was a black felt-tipped permanent marker.
"A dead man competes with
The frigate bird no longer,"
He scrawled on the side of the
Refrigerator.
"I'm just about finished
With it," he told me.
I opened the fridge,
Grabbed two cans of beer,
Offering him one.
"Thanx," he said and rotated
His eyes toward heaven
In gracious gratitude.
"What's yer name?" I asked.
"Gregor Samsa," came the reply.
A cloud of pious perdition
Filled the room as his voice faded.
I had not yet read Kafka and believed him.






Codeine and Coffee for Breakfast

Codeine and coffee
For breakfast,
Plump Prozac pills
Polishing the feruginous
Sides of the esophagus
On their way to a
Nirvanic neo-populist ricevimento
Being held in your honor.
Safe and secluded in the
Warm womb of employment, I wander
The dank halls of wonder,
Touching the ooze leather,
Hoping for a votive Mass,
A friend or solicitor to
Email me with news from
The electronic frontier, telling us that
Today is Vulcanology Day worldwide;
Jump into the redorange comfort of
Melting basalt, go down until the
Basalt becomes your skin
And everything you touch burns,
Burns with inhospitable numbness,
Burns with frostbite,
Burns with an ectopic euphoria
That the Knights of Columbus
Could only talk about after a
Few stiff ones.
But now, I want to call the Pope.
Does anyone have his
Cell number?
I want to discuss
The avant aspects
Of the transubstantiation.
I mean, is the wine
Chlorinated? If so,
Why, and if not,
Why not?

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