May 19th, 2011

This is a cover of the poem "slim killers" by Charles Bukowski from the book Mockingbird Wish Me Luck.

slim killers

four motherfuckers knock at my door

and I open it

I'm drunk and they're massive.

"Bunch of slim killers," I say.

they stroll in with arrogance,

naive machismo

demanding a ride

while pretending

to ask for one.

we pile in,

all of us stinky drunk.

"I write too," exclaims one of the faces.

"I write poetry, like you."

His moment of vulnerability

attempts to mask his vile indecision,

his stench of desired acceptance.

back at my place I remain king.

one by one they pass out

like terrified, clever possums.

heavy aspirations

mixed with inflated egos

lead to disappointing self-realizations,

involving drink intake

and not.

come morning,

when they awake to a blinding

and cruel hangover,

one sure to be nursed with sympathy,

they vomit in turn

and leave with whatever dignity

they're able to muster.

as fans of my work,

I feel indifferent.