My Afternoon with Bukowski.

Time passes by
Always with the drinking and smoking
The women they pass through.
Leaving scratches and bites and a bloodied heart that should have known better.
An old drunk dead man talks to me through time.
Publicy bleeding, picking at your wounds.
I saw a picture of your grave and all these groupies
Bringing a six pack of beer and a full deck
Some sort of fitting tribute in the lowest form
I guess you would have liked that.
I wonder if your still the same.