August 30, 2006

Hangover: A Bukowski Poem

By Sigge S. Amdal © 2006

My mind is shards of glass,
crushing on a surface covered by brilliantly small grains of sand, that is, thinking.
Decapitation seems like the obvious remedy.

The waiter served me half an hour too late.
The sun is taken by clouds, and cold winds make for a winter chill.

A short-haired dog with contractions on its rear part,
turns his ass to me and shits a large turd right there on the street.
This does not make me hungry.

All the women ignore cute men like me.
I am homosexual by appearance it seems,
so all I get is a pat on the back and a Friendly smile.
Just as good, my will is not what it was,
impotence due to a lack of life force,
but I cock my head and sneak a peek nonetheless.
White, transparent dresses feed my frustration.

If I had the grace,
I'd crawl into the street, lie my head face down into the dogshit, throw up and die.
God, I love the summertime.

Sigge S. Amdal is a word wanker from Oslo, Norway.

1 comment:

sports bookmaker said...

You did a great job with the poem but I don't think that decapitation is the solution to the problem.