If I met Charley I probably would have smashed him in his over sized snozz
Like a scene ripped from the reels of Barfly yes indeed we would have bar fought
I would have clobbered that big smug ugly b*st*rd with my big chubby ham club
Solely in an effort to sober him up for a moment
Only because he always seems to beat up his woman
Who he not so affectionately refers to as “The whore”
I mean let’s be honest this guy was a genius but like all genius’ they are all f*ck*d in the head
So if he we had become friends
I probably would have said something like
You drunken gifted jiggaloo with your bourbon burps and your stinky stained plaid shirt
Take that clickety-click clack of your old rusty friend the typewriter
Go on in your drunken tyradical rant and write something that permanently reminds me
That I am just me, and you are you;
A gifted son of a b*tch with endless whimsical wit
The charm of a Don Juan to a woman,
They read your words and flock to you for that.
I leave to go to the sh*tt*r for not more than 5
Upon my return I’m left here in this perfume cloud, 2 dozen empty beer glasses and the bill that runs down past my knee
Its stuck to the bottom of a full shot of cognac and its floating a half smoked Marlboro light
The effervescent betwixt the amber reflection is staring at the guy who is paying and I’m thinking my goodness wasn’t Ole Charley just a f*ck*ng delight tonight!
(Bukowski was a beat poet who wrote Barfly and lived a crazy life. He was a bad alcoholic but a gifted writer, I wrote this after I watched a documentary on his life. So if you don’t know who he was this probably wont mean much to you. Stylistically in parts its purposely written with a Bukowski flare but it’s a sample of my work cheers and it will be included in my book, when it is done.)
