Where Are You When I Need you?

I miss the woman I never met.
I miss the woman I'll meet some
time from now.
Why is it the one for me,
is always somewhere else?
Why is it the one for me,
is always fucking someone else?
The ties that bind us are fragile
and foolish.
They are allegiances that we
can never keep,
but it keeps us from being alone.
It's hard to get over something
that never really happened.
It's hard to get over someone
we never really knew.

One Day Soon

We’re miles apart but I still feel you next to me.
We both have our scars
but we can play show and tell all night
‘till I’ve kissed you clean.
So put on that blue dress
And meet me under the ballpark lights
because we’re one hell of a hot mess.
I’ll rub your back,
you’ll scream my name,
and we’ll leave a trail of
empty bottles and broken
glasses in our wake.
When it’s all said and done
and the rain is coming down
I’ll be holding you close
as Morrissey sings you to sleep.
So tonight when you dream,
dream of me and remember
There is a light that never goes out.

Exerpt of Long Distance Drunk by Charles Bukowski

Francine turned over to him and slipped his arm around here. Three a.m. drunks, all over America, were staring at the walls, having finally given it up. You didn't have to be a drunk to get hurt, to be zeroed out by a woman; but you could get hurt and become a drunk. You might think for a while, especially when you were young, that luck was with you, and sometimes it was. But there were all manner of averages and laws working that you knew nothing about, even as you imagined things were going well. Some night, some hot summer Thursday night, you became the drunk, you were out there alone in a cheap rented room, and no matter how many times you'd been out there before, it was no help, it was even worse because you had got to thinking you wouldn't have to face it again. All you could do was light another cigarette, pour another drink, check the peeling walls for lips and eyes. What men and women did to each other was beyond comprehension. Tony drew Francine closer to him, pressed his body quietly against hers and listened to her breathe. It was horrible to have to be serious about shit like this once again.Los Angeles was so strange. He listened. The birds were already up, chirping, yet it was pitch dark. Soon the people would be heading for the freeways. You'd hear the freeways hum, plus cars starting everywhere on the streets. Meanwhile the 3 a.m. drunks of the world would lay in their beds, trying in vain to sleep, and deserving that rest, if they could find it.

A Reagan's Youth

These days drag on
but only in the minds eye.
Young men want to be off
in the thick of the action,
always on go
Never stop, never sleep;
drinking, smoking, fighting,
falling in and out of love.
We're all broke but it ain't so bad.
We get some whiskey now and then
and a piece of ass.
This is the life of a king.
Yet misery still hunts us down.
It finds a way to creep in through
the window molding
like a draft,
like the stink of garbage on a hot day in July.
We sit back at last call
smoking our cigarettes and ask
WHY?
Then the phone rings;
Sarah wants to come over.
Said she has half a fifth of Cutty left.
And just like that it melts
like the ice in our glasses
as we swallow it down somewhere
we'll never see.

Jumping Boxcars In Dixie

Back when things mattered
they'd call me a dreamer.
They'd say I was a vagabond.
Back when things mattered
I'd hop a train.
I'd see the infestation
from coast to coast.
I met a woman once,
she said I was a tiger trapped in a cage.
Said I had the killer instinct,
but I'd become dull.
Back when things mattered
I wouldn't bother making a difference.
I'd sit in that boxcar and think
of Hemingway.
I'd read the forgotten poetry
the Indians wrote in the land.
Back when things mattered
they'd try to shame me for not joining their war.
But that would be fine by me because
I'd remember that woman;
and the way she'd describe my brown eyes.
I'd remember her say...
I was a jungle cat in disguise.
I'd rip her to shreds
and feast on her words.
At night when I'm in the boxcars
with the wino-s who snore and groan
I think of that woman.
Somehow I think she knows
I made it out.

My Soul's Walked More Miles Than Jesus' Flip Flops

The mad hatter sits at his helm; in hysterics.
He balances out the world.
He makes it out the way no one wants to see it.
His hung over soul will release the locusts on all those who call the night.
But to the 3am drunks,
this is just another night in Los Angeles.

Lost Piece

She said: “Loving you was harder
than anything I ever shot.
You always had that subtle taste
of demolition on your lips
and there’s no such thing as mistakes.”
But there’s nowhere to go from here,
there’s no methadone for my name.
You’ll have to sweat me out with someone else.
The drapes will pull closed
as he takes off those faded pink panties
and forgets your name.
But she’ll use him like a bummed cigarette,
making sure she gets all he’s worth.
It took me three years but I finally
realized the thought of you was better
than the real you.
So claim your set like the rest of the evangelicals
and call your pusher,
cause I’m tired of being your buffer.
I’ve got the lust for life
and all you’ll ever be is an anvil.
When he leaves you’ll just cover your tracks
and scout your next mark
at the Red Room.
By the time you get back to your bedroom
my trail will be leaving the station.
Don’t bother looking for me
left of the dial.