You lied to me,
Bukowski.
Or Chinaski
Maybe that's the guy.
Either way,
there are no women
and there is no booze.
Post Office
lied to me,
and
Women
did too.
I sifted through the Madness
and the
Way
is not there.
Alabama!
There is no horse track
and you said
dogracing
is-
well, I don't remember what
you said
but
you didn't like it.
There is no Santa Monica Beach
nor is there any
Air-condition-less
windows.
No Santa Ana winds.
No
women in short skirts.
Late night
runs to a
liquor store
just to borrow
wine?
I hate wine.
Chuck, man.
There is no wine.
However, I think
you'd appreciate
how long
and how much
your poetry
has helped
moved along
my bowels
in the morning.
Bukowski, you
fuckin' liar.
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