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.