between a rock & a hard place
you just can’t turn it on
it doesn’t work that way
not like a car or a night light
not like making coffee
before sunrise
there you see it
& there you don’t
how dare you tempt me
posing as a dream
only to be long forgotten
so you sit there
at a loss for words
asking yourself what would
Bukowski do
what about Dorothy Parker
august two thousand twenty-two
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