That ****** bar fly.
That **** stained old man.
How could he capture
the essence of a human?

I read and read and read his words.
His thoughts.
And I have to ask,
"How can someone so flawed
be almost flawless?"

I spend my Sunday's praying that someday
I can have just an ounce of his insight.
Is it the countless drinks?
The years at the post office?
The failed relationships?
I would give my right eye to
have his talent.
But then...
Why would I want to be a dead, washed up, *******?