now, I’m no Bukowski but my friends who don’t like poet… except his stuff, tell me they like mine, and I can drink like a drinking machine
a few hundred million dying days later he emerges into crazy
here in the middle of the bottom of the lie how obvious
leaning into, not against it. no, decidedly for, yes, always that, no matter
stupid met crazy decided to have a baby or two... what else you gonna do?
simply knowing you’re in a maze doesn’t get you out, but the fact is the foundation
here’s a story. it may even be true. where i come from nothing ever sucks, so i
the conquering child turns 50, gets the gag out its mouth, says here i am. let’s play now
you are guilty of failing to love and understand me, like a dog is guilty of failing to speak or use
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
root it out the tiny bit left that says someone’s in charge not you. don’t let it live
man, it’s hard to come down from impossible hopes seemingly
finally, without knowing it was coming, he got to die. it was great. like a birthday party clown, he was equally the center
got the sex drive of 15 young bulls, but the women are all scared.
I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered