So what? by Harry Calhoun

So fuck Bob Kaufman and Charles Bukowski
and all those cats, I’m tired of writing about what was,
give me something to live for now, just let me sleep
and wake up the next day

I rode the bus of obscurity and I don’t want
to ride the greasy rails of fame.

But you know what matters? The other night,
Johnny Depp came on stage
at the People’s Choice Awards
and the crowd stood up like a chorus.

I wept, and somewhere, I’m certain,
Jesus did too.

4 Responses to “So what? by Harry Calhoun”

  1. groovy!

  2. “Some hate you, Kaufman….your sur-real eclipses blot out their muted sun”

    “Some are relieved, Kaufman….you have gone, taking your realities with you”

  3. Hey db, wasn’t meaning to dis Kaufman or Bukowski so much as to say they’re not me, nor are they any of us, despite how much some cling to the illusion that they are the second coming of either. Thanks for the comments.

  4. Tim Peeler Says:

    Oh, Yea-a-ah!

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