Just a Bukowski Tonight

let’s cut through it
I’m just a man, nothing more
and the way you did your eyes tonight is sexy

the shape of your face reminds me
of a girl I used to know
someone who used me

not her fault, I deserved it
she was sexy too
so is your face

huntington_drink

I can’t tell the shape of your body
but I’m sure it’s a bit of all right
Fuck

I’m not a poet tonight
I’m just a Bukowski
without the books

just a dirty, old man
with stubble, and resentment
for anyone with anything less
than vagina
or booze
to offer

BSB

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Perch

Perch adjusts the 50″ flat screen in his grasp, scared paranoid above anything else of allowing it to touch the sidewalk. The way they make these things now, they’re almost designed to shatter.

His mind babbles, groans, mutters. Continue reading

Seven

When morning creeps, across the floor toes drag
And make a mockery of ev’ry step
The mirrored glass reflects two eyes that sag
And raises doubts as to how well they slept
Those liquored drinks that trickled smoothly down
Bar-tenders fed with ev’ry dollar spent
The raucous rush that swept them across town
Confusion as to where those women went
With fire in head and gut full of regret
With wallet feeling more than slightly light
One realizes now is paid the debt
From buying so much glee yesterday night
The solemn oath, now given loud and plain:
“I’ll never touch another drink again!”

maybe I do have a problem

when you’re walking in the front door in daylight
and the barmaid’s putting up the sign outside
and you have to check your watch and ask for confirmation
that the bar is in fact open and she congratulates you
on being the first customer of the day

when you sit at the empty bar and only the owner of the place
is sharing the space with you

when you feel like an alcoholic
and the fact that you’re drunk isn’t helping

when you feel obligated to order a coffee and a glass of water
just to make yourself feel somewhat under control
somewhat half-way pedestrian

when that time kicks in your ribs
with the cold and pointed twang of social conformity

maybe it’s time to admit
you have a problem

the city claims another

just watched a seagull
walking limp, wounded in flight
wandering in the street
like a poor drunkard
so transfixed was I
by such a sad sight
I didn’t see the taxi cab
until it was upon him
the bird spread its wings
lamely hopping out of the way
straight into the path
of another cab
god damn this city
the thud was deafening
I’ll hear it ’til the day I die
as I’ll see that poor creature
who tried to commit suicide
in the worst possible way
and survived
to eaten alive by the city

here’s to the maiden

she’s sat here for a hundred years, at this bar
before it was even built, she was here
winking at Johns and Jims, asking their story
since time began, she’s been here
many men have known her love, and her fury
have kicked her from the bed in the middle of the night
cursing her name and her craziness
swearing they will never do this again
no need to weep for her rejection
she weeps not for herself, why should we
simply pray
O God, if you do exist and are indeed merciful
strike this woman dead, this ageless beauty
replace her with someone younger
more beautiful and less insane