shit, sometimes it gets so lonely that i can't even commit suicide

the death of a snail i guess 
would be more glorious than your or mine  

now if you can make a statement almost similar to that  
and you bat left handed on dark nights  
and seldom think of your mother  

we are probably about even  

so maybe we're doing the same thing tonight:  
listening to that jerk-off Beethoven's 8th.  
and rolling HALF and HALF BURLEY and BRIGHT tobacco.  


charles bukowski 3-27-76