I threw her
clothing out of the
third story window
gripping a fifth
like a banister
laughing a deep
mad chuckle
as I felt, for
the first time,
like a child

I'm hungover,
and colors don't
smell right
and images don't
taste right
and my lungs
are coated in
exhaust and liquor
fumes

I'm hungover
like a dog searching
for a bone that
was buried long ago
in a deep hole
in the middle of
nowhere

god ****** I'm hungover!
and I can't escape
the cigarette smoke
that follows me like
a bad pun
and there's a headache
starting in my toes
that wretches my
brain in the back
left corner
where my poems
come from

writing is not
a calling
it's a warning
it's Bukowski
saying, "get out
while you can."

alcohol gives
short periods
of drunkenness
followed by long
periods of contrast,
but in that drunkenness
god whispers
insanity in
your ear
and you
smile

Courage is what you get
when you imagine fear
while it's tucked away
snug in your garrett
surrounded by doubt
and tiny walls
that disappear
entirely when looking
down the barrel of a .45
which isn't long
and isn't expensive
and is the most common
gun in the country

Man's flaw
is that his
heart is far
larger than
his body,
though,
some are
not bound
by humanity,
no,
some are
not men
but ideas
in the form
of men