Froggacuda's Weblog

Bukowski, you’re wonderful,
feeding me and my generation the lines
full of whores and liquor and laziness
with a purpose:
horse racing and post office jobs;
you’re telling me to buy the fifth
I already bought and drank
and puked and drank some more
over this ode.
this fucked up pattern on my cheap futon
won’t leave me alone, an eyestrain.
and I wish I had lived my seventy years out
drinking, smoking, fucking and writing
before this particular decade
when I’ll die from boredom.