riding the waves

waves are always highest
when you are stuck standing
in an enormous puddle
while waiting for the lazy bus
to decide and show up.

Such a stupid thing-
moronic behavior-
Allowing
the dirty city water to soak your ankles
and ruin your nice sox
till this odd wet claw reaches up your spine
and makes your toes cold.

i've never understood
how to ride those persistent waves
the rhythmn of schedule
of work
and life-
how do you take the energy of 40 waves
and ride it?
move with it?
and flow as they do in desert California?

40 waves that crash endlessly
knocking stubbornly on my wall of words
beating their demands
for paychecks-
for tax breaks-
for utility bills-

40 waves soaking
in one lousy misplaced puddle-
while i wait on the corner
and glare at the obnoxious sun-
waiting
and waiting for that damn bus
that i know will never come.




and for late night conversations with people who have no teeth:
"Somebody at one of these places asked me: "What do you do? How do you write, create?" You don't, I told them. You don't try. That's very important: not to try, either for Cadillacs, creation or immortality. You wait, and if nothing happens, you wait some more. It's like a bug high on the wall. You wait for it to come to you. When it gets close enough you reach out, slap out and kill it. Or if you like it's looks, you make a pet out of it."
- Charles Bukowski