a word on Bukowski

After reading this:

http://susanzettell.blogspot.com/2012/01/new-year-2012.html


Just for fun I decided to post this:



Where are the Alden Nowlans


Enough Bukowski to create a love hate

with his bar fly music's two fisted songs.

A feigned ego and mental self flogging;

I think he should have married Ginsberg.



Whiny, self loathing men crying out

for their mothers and their lost childhoods

or the loves they only thought they had;

players in a lottery without tickets.



Nothing wrong with their mechanics,

but there's no fish guts or slippery decks here,

just tired words down dusty old roads,

a never ending pain in the ass.



A little tenderness might be nice

but I 'm too pissed

to scrape it off the floor.

If I could only talk to Alden Nowlan

Tom Hemeon