What's Up Chuck?

Bukowski I read your words
And they echo through me,
Vibrate my bones and chatter in my teeth.
I have to fight channeling
Your voice in my own
But sometimes I really don't
Want to at all.

You were a magnificent
Scumbag.
For all your drinking
Fucking fighting
And staring at the ceiling
During hung mornings,
You echoed the emptiness
In all of us
That most of us
Just won't admit.

I wonder what it'd sound like...

I think of you when
everything else is still and silent
and I've nothing else left to
Distract me.

I wonder if you know.
Of couse you do. I am a boar, I
feel with my sleeves and scream from
mountain tops.

Just the same I imagine
The words, the speech- finally saying
something, anything at all to you that
actually matters.

I can't actually remember
what your perfume smells like or if
you actually wear any but like your reaction I
Imagine it.

You in my arms, the words
Whispered under breathe, my lips
matched to your thin lips, my arms around your
thin waist.

What an image.

But I am silent, the lessons taught
By her spinning and becoming nothing
More than ash have not been learned and I am
A coward.

Type type type and
Tell me more.
Tell me more.