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Bukowski’s Bluebird August 16, 2016

Posted by The Typist in New Orleans, poem, Poetry, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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Not only words in his mouth
but what look like feathers,
clamped tight in his teeth
like an anxious gambler’s cigarette.
Cat eyed and smiling at the bar,
he caught beauty perched on a stool
and swallowed it in one bite.
Now odd notes issue from his throat.
His words come out as songs.

Also published in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.

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