"I don't want a shoulder to lean on." - Henry Rollins

I don't want a shoulder to lean on. I don't need it. The whole idea of

“Someone, that special someone...!” is for me, a load of shit. I must

be fully contained. No leakage, no spillover. Dependency is weak-

ness. It's such a lie. Lying there in bed, in your lover's arms. She's

behind me, she believes in me! No one is behind me. I am behind

me. I believe in me. I don't need any support group to keep my head

together. I know what I have to do, so I should just shut up and do it.

oh, yes - Charles Bukowski

there are worse things than

being alone

but it often takes decades

to realize this

and most often

when you do

it's too late

and there's nothing worse

than

too late.

when you wait for the dawn to crawl through the screen like a burglar to take your life away-- - Charles Bukowski

the snake had crawled the hole,

and she said,

tell me about

yourself.

and

I said,

I was beaten down

long ago

in some alley

in another

world.

and she said,

we're all

like pigs

slapped down some lane,

our

grassbrains

singing

toward the

blade.

by

god,

you're an

odd one,

I said.

we

sat there

smoking

cigarettes

at

5

in the morning.

Untitled - Warsan Shire

I'm sorry you were not

truly loved and that it

made you cruel.

She Dotes - Edward Thomas

She dotes on what the wild birds say

Or hint or mock at, night and day, --

Thrush, blackbird, all that sing in May,

     And songless plover,

Hawk, heron, owl, and woodpecker.

They never say a word to her

     About her lover.

She laughs at them for childishness,

She cries at them for carelessness

Who see her going loverless

     Yet sing and chatter

Just as when he was not a ghost,

Nor ever ask her what she has lost

     Or what is the matter.

Yet she has fancied blackbirds hide

A secret, and that thrushes chide

Because she thinks death can divide

     Her from her lover:

And she has slept, trying to translate

The word the cuckoo cries to his mate

     Over and over.

The Inspection - Fred Voss

Whenever a good-looking secretary walks down the aisle at

Goodstone Aircraft Company,

the machinists make a point of staring at her

from the moment they spot her.

They move around their machines

to keep her tits and ass and thighs

in view,

making sure that it is obvious

they are watching her.

They drift away from their machines,

sticking their necks out into the aisle

to keep her in view

until she is out the door of the building.

Then they let out with shrill whistles,

shaking their heads and hands

and going limp all over as if they were about to collapse,

making sure that everyone knows

how much their lustful minds sucked in

every inch of every curve on her body,

competing with each other

to see who

can stagger and whistle and maintain

their open-mouthed black-eyed look

the longest,

glancing about at each other

to take stock of the results.

Finally, when it is safe to quit whistling and moaning

tributes to her body,

they return to their machines,

reassured that they have once again passed

the test.