(June 16th,1971 / Hull, Quebec, Canada)

Bukowski Ate My Liver

Bukowski ate my liver!
I would never have believed it,
if I were not right there
when it happened.
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
His hand leapt at me
from out of the page.
He reached right in
to my abdomen,
clutched the
rancid organ in
his despair soaked fist,
dripping tiny droplets
of sickly-sweet despondency,
and shoved the
odious thing straight into
his mouth!

He chewed for a bit,
then stopped,
paused for a moment,
and then,
wiping some of the
blood and bile
from off his chin,
he sneered
and glared at me
with portentous eyes
that resembled
more than his,
and said:

“Do you know why I did that? ”

“No! ” I replied, “Why? ”

“For no damned good reason whatsoever! Get it? ”

“Yeah, Buk.” I said, “I think I do...”

“...Now, get the hell out of here
so I can finish your book,
and tend to this wound.”

Copyright (C) MMIV (2004)

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