if i had drank
and spilled myself forward
into time's zero gravity
through
the loving eyes of a dog lipped girl
kissing me in morning
while i wonder
how to climb past her and forget

then i would wander the empty
sunday morning street
back to my one room
slatted and leaking cheap rent by the week home
(neon and shattered dreams)
cursing the face of bukowski
lying down to drown in the brown mucous of empathy
curled in a knot
pained and pathetic
a whimper

but
i would rise again
to leaf through new days
lie to new women
drink to new gods
and pretend that
america
charles bukowski and i
were freinds

this and the blessing of forgetfulness
become my bliss

tip the waitress for me, will ya'