"piddled" poems
I came, and I went there.
I went there and came.
I furnished my money, my loving and fame.
I drank and I piddled, I piddled and sang,
a song for Bukowski, for Bukowski I sang.
The low-lifes and hustlers,
the ****** and the cops.
The ***** in the bottle,
the dives and the flops.
The racers and wasters,
living on luck.
For all of the chasers,
I now raise a cup.
A song for Bukowski, for Bukowski a song.
A song for Bukowski, Bukowski so long.
Nov 3, 2010
Nov 3, 2010 at 3:23 PM UTC