My Heroes

Bukowski & Carlin are a sour lot.

They must’ve been bullied as

troubled youths — absentee parents,

running loose. Thinkin’ they got

it all figured out. Driving around

in crappy, rimless cars, with

broken doors, drunken whores;

more more more drugs & smokes.

Sweating, penniless, in dingy dives — 

slinging poetry and jokes;

I’ll buy your shit, and applaud;

sloshed, stumbling, right past God

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