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