Harder to be obscure

Or to organize


But it may be better

Because you don’t know

Who, or where you are


Maybe your liver

Will get better

Not likely


Even though

This Oriental glow remains

Drinking just the same


Fucking god fucking damnit

Charles Bukowski

How I realize


How similar I am

To the likes of you

When I’m deep into brews


My poetry is awful

More than raw

Dripping mediocrity


Oh, Bukowski

How you disgust me

And how I hate myself as well


Leftover Beer and Melting Shadows

by Stephanie Gonzalez

I am not ungrateful

designate a meaning


the fake white beard

becomes intolerable

you sound like Elvis

howling plagiarism

to stupid girls

and now old men

you deserved

your end


face with makeup

shimmering waste

trying to catch

another glimpse

softly petting

your rough hands

it doesn’t get

any worse than this

disgust and apathy

ironically mix

in this microscopic blender

there is no listen,

only hear,

I don’t mind,

I just get the job done

these sores are representations

of humility and disgrace

when did the ground become

so distant