i writer everyday and ask her to come back but i do not send em i think about younger girls or bigger girls or wilder girls arent what im lookin for now but you know that and its not super, man, thinking about all of whatever happened that added up to this which is me alone at 2am suckin on a pen thinking of how i write and write and nothings
you drive through the desert and you see two things oilrigs pumping and windmills spinning motion and no movement spirit, no action. whirling and whirling typing and hoping and praying and thinking im gonna die without her thinking im so stupid to even be thinking
everyone gets over theirs i got over mines whats so damn perfect about this little flatchest grrl with her perfect hair and lips we’d kiss and cry and lie all night slept in so many rooms all over california mexico and foreign lands like gretna and maui whats the good lord got saved for me do bums in the street with heaps of dirty clothes used as sheets snoozing away in a doorway think about what the lords gonna bring em and who am i to ask when theyve got real dreams i just want my little girl. clouds pass by overhead silent in the nightsky theyre going to where clouds die and theyve seen her why dont they tell me hows it really. the rain, it rains, and it pours on a little pink girls bike half falling down no kickstand im damned why wont he say it in a holding cell not hell but close someone in the cloud has a rope but theyre scared id use it the cheater way and youd see dangling converses in the morning with milk but i got better plans dear fans i just want my little girl. and they bowl as the rain pours tears from sobbing saints twentyfour hours it flashes semis blow past spray mud on the corn and i wish sometimes i wasnt born you dont need me what role am i bukowski kicks the crap outta this guy dont sex good anymore and i cant hit a curve i teach fools how to sell im the king of the nerds so whys he got me breathing still aint i paid all my bills maybe thats it. s**t. i still want my little girl.