on a thursday night, i read him poemsbukowskiinspired but tactlesshe wonders what the thoughts arethat i do not sayand we smoke cigarettesand snort xa..
i want to be a poeti don't now if that is a profession or a diseaseprobably bothi want to kill the people who are ready to die but cantwhen i am sad i..
when i was a wee oneand grandma was still livingshe told me the big bad wolf lived downstairsnow i sit down hereatop a washing machinesmoking a marlbo..
i want to make love to you - i want to remember the way you smellin the morning and at nighti want to feel the weight of your existence pressing gentl..