tough motherfucker full of drinks
and fights, and piss, and cum
when one day seems like a lot
i wish i was Bukowski
a man without a thousand friends
a man without a thousand lovers
a man without an ounce of respect for
a boss
or a president
or a father
or a policeman
with love
true love for the bartenders
and the lowlifes
and the loose women
the scumbags got their stories
too
when i am staring down the letters
looking for the rabid dog who wants to be
a sweet pup
i am thinking of Bukowski
when i pass by the bars
or the liquor isle
i am thinking of Bukowski
when i fall in love with a woman
i am thinking of Bukowski
when one day seems like a lot
the fact that i never finished Pulp
is just enough
the shit under my fingernail
is just enough
a fly's busted wing
and a mosquito's broken twat
are just enough
and when one day seems like too much
i read Cause And Effect
and then i read it again
and again
and again
until i know i've read it
just enough
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