The Supreme Lover
He wakes up with a lump in his throat.
A Saharan state of distaste in the back of his mouth,
for the previous night’s affairs of
booze and cigarettes have taken a toll
on the tender muscles of his larynx.
He rubs his bony fingers against his Adam’s Apple,
a conversation meant to console himself,
but to no avail, no relief would come.
As one takes a sip of water to relieve dehydration,
one notices the stale taste
of water exposed to this air.
It becomes apparent that it is difficult to love oneself
when one wakes up in a hangover cloud.
(I wrote this earlier and I am not sure if I like it. I think I used too much imagery.)
We are all hungry for pizza.
Some of us don’t have pizza,
but we know that there’s pizza available.
That’s a metaphor, dick.
Bukowski was a Cat person…
I read somewhere that Bukowski lived with nine cats.
I’ve also read somewhere, or was told by someone,
that when you die, your cat will eat you before your body even gets cold.
I can only image if Bukowski died alone in his house.
Alone, except for those nine cats.
And I can only imagine those nine cats, waiting for the feeding frenzy to begin.
I bet Bukowski would taste horrible.
All that cheap wine and cigarettes, that dirty old man,
probably passed out cold on the ground in his tighty-whities
(the ones that probably have a broken elastic waistband)
and a pit-stained undershirt draped over his hairy, fat body.
A genius, but a dirty old genius nonetheless.
You listened to all of those songs,
the ones you and your old friends used to listen to-
listen to so much, that they became some kind of anthem
(Cliche, I know, but I have no other way of describing it.)
And you were drunk, of course.
And although you have new friends now, you still miss the old ones,
and it seems like everyone from that part of your life is so far away,
on different sides of the continent.
You listen to those songs and think of what your Grandpa always says,
“This song used to make me cry in my beer,”
and it makes you wonder if your Grandpa was exactly like you,
sixty-something years ago.
There’s pee in 9 out of 10 urinals.
I pee in the only one without, Urinal #7.
I then shake the last remaining drops out, zip up,
I didn’t flush so my pee would stand in solidarity with the others.
There’s pee in 10 out of 10 urinals.