Thursday, April 20, 2017

Bukowski

There aren't enough pills in the world
To drown out the infant screeching in my head
Cries as sharp as the knife-point of a hangover (my poor, poor liver)
Slicing into rot coloured dread, caked into the cracks in the mind's eye
A movie plays...
Broken down locomotives sit dead on the tracks
Prisoners of rust and time
"What the hell happened to this town?"
Asked a generation weaned off the tits of history
"I dunno... NAFTA followed by heroin I guess," She replied
In a thick smoker's cough
... There aren't enough pills in the world.

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