After R.B.
I sat with Bukowski
on the steps of the
dock, sharing a
cigarette, shooting
lasers at the moon to
measure the distance
from dusk to dawn.
He talked about drink,
starvation and crazy,
crazy women. I talked
about Plato, Elvis and
Baudelaire. The sun
went down and the sun
came up. The post office
dug its deep claws
into both of us.
Russell J Turner – December 2011
Relocated
9 years ago
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