Usually in the hollow dark of five-thirty I am sure I’ll have a new idea. Then…
I want to write a novel,bestseller, New York Times,or paint a thousand pretty pictures,or pen poetic rhymes.
Stymying hill up but climbing down not so easy – I cross a thousand…
get fucking exhausted
Don’t spray that inside – ass crash but pants on or off the wound expands – startled…
Reading new Bukowski — or maybe old but no impulse to help an old poet keep his cock in…