Watched "born into this" Bukowski makes me wonder if I should actually read him, rather then take a poem here and there. I graduated high school and my senior quote, which every senior gets, was from his gravestone stating 'don't try' which I thought was funny, but not as clever as my other friend who put "would you like some sarcasm with my apathy?" He joined the army. here is what I wrote in the following 24 hours after viewing.

It hangs over you looming

like a bad dream you keep having

you must make that exit soon

forget the anger, the desperation

your meals will be full

you'll worry about being old

the world falls away behind

a fence for your dog and children

but your not ignorant, just fearful

to abandon your house

your 10 O'clock news

so next to your wife awake,

you worry over her snoring

or the baby in the monitor

not anymore about how messed it is

or that shit that used to make you cry

people living off of others garbage

being shipped in a night train

to scavenge the dumpsters of rich

and their rumbling on the rail

combines with snores of your wife

and you imagine that compassion

is everything, so your ignore

not ignorance, but bliss

the man with the sign is not your problem

not like you used to, you accept

tolerance kills lynching you up

so take a sip, and stare at the paper

full of red you only see the color

not the substance of the words

not the process of it or how it sounds

title

I wonder if your last breath feels good

like a smokers morning cigarette

like a hand on your cock

like sun on your skin

or some shade in a sweat

like whatever you desire

or a kiss on your forehead

hanging perfume on your sleeping lids

I wonder if you feel the last beat

a reverberating note to a song

as oxygen squeezes out of your blood

what senses last longest

what imagine does a blind man think

as your heart pitter pats away

and no more, just black

not even black

something you can't describe

you relax they say,

and when that weight of life removes

you eek out some shit

that you've been holding onto

because it's hard to let go of

when the body is strong

clenching life, as if hung

over a toilet sick unable to stand

but

I think if maybe we all anted up

we'd walk around wearing diapers

remembering were animals,

and we shit when we like

TITLE

American Idolatry

so christian, so righteous

the flag will be draped

over st peter, like a bloody balboa

as the song is sung and judged

our electronics mashed by fingers

cellulite asses connected

glazed eyes, slurp it all in

millionaires daughters sold

like rich slaves, she fucks for fame

a modern courtesan, body naked

clothed on the check out aisle

headlines glaring, next to the gum

and others they make up our focus

we rake them across the world

shouldn't everyone one want our best

our blond and healthy, while shacks

with tiny satellites show the uninsured

how surely it is that she appears fascinating

her parents buildings loom high

crawling up like her legs to her neck