CosmicPal
09-27-2008, 10:01 PM
I've been cleaning out my den and having a couple of drinks when I found this old diatribe of a poem I wrote many years ago.
(At the time, I was a Charles Bukowki fan, and this was my attempt to emulate him):
Flush
“Here I sit all broken-hearted.
I came to shit, but hardly farted.”
I found this stamped in a faded black marker
on the stall door
“Here I sit all broken-hearted.
I came to shit, but hardly farted.”
I continued to read it over and over again.
“Here I sit…”
“….came to shit.”
It was the only thing to read other than Holly’s phone number and how some dude promised future shitters like me that she would give us a good time
“…broken-hearted”
“…hardly farted.”
It’s over
I’m through with the reading of bathroom stink poetry
I pull up my trousers
and flush
I didn’t shit
I didn’t fart
I was too goddamn drunk to stand up and pee.
(At the time, I was a Charles Bukowki fan, and this was my attempt to emulate him):
Flush
“Here I sit all broken-hearted.
I came to shit, but hardly farted.”
I found this stamped in a faded black marker
on the stall door
“Here I sit all broken-hearted.
I came to shit, but hardly farted.”
I continued to read it over and over again.
“Here I sit…”
“….came to shit.”
It was the only thing to read other than Holly’s phone number and how some dude promised future shitters like me that she would give us a good time
“…broken-hearted”
“…hardly farted.”
It’s over
I’m through with the reading of bathroom stink poetry
I pull up my trousers
and flush
I didn’t shit
I didn’t fart
I was too goddamn drunk to stand up and pee.