BATH-TIME WITH BUKOWSKI

Somewhere in the back of your head
you know this is a sad place
to go
but you don't mind.
You watch the glasses fill
of their own accord
and count your blessings.

as long as someone out there
wants to read it
like a dirty secret
it'll be just fine

That dark brown taste
filling up the back
of your mouth
like rusty chocolate yeast
tells you that it's money
well spent.
You're licking up the geysers
from all the young geezers
pretending that you understand
the concept of time.
and you're wondering why everyone
can't just chill the fuck out.

And as for pearly gates
all I can say is
I'll be grateful
if they let me back in.

The lack of clocks
is growing in my pad
like a virus
and yet I'm never late
anymore,
not like the old days
when I couldn't even keep up
on evening strolls...
I suppose I am maturing,
as they say
letting that brown taste thicken
and take over
like fortified wine.
And even though my friends
are always dying
none of them
ever seems to die.