All Lovers Betray Poem by Barry Middleton

reading Charles Bukowski poetry
is like searching for dead anger
dead lovers, gone forever, lost

people cannot have relationships
anymore, they're too time intensive
too labor intensive when angry words
are not deleted but must be worked
sweated over like an August grave

I don't know if I am sad or angry
or something in between
not born to it but grown into it

the pathos of loneliness lingers
texted, tweeted to a million FB friends
i-phones buzzing in particular rhythms

is not enough to make connection
is not enough to form love or hate

and another day begins
like that song about Tom's Diner
I am waiting for a picnic
midnight or otherwise
I am waiting on my corner
building poems in the darkness
now another cup of coffee
now a train of thought to catch
and I dream of all the voices