So Get Over It

So Get Over It.
by Brian Looney.

Hey Bukowski.

I'm so drunk I can't even type.
You're rotting in your grave,
but I'm writing.

What a goddamn shame.
If only there was eternal life.
But there's not.

I love you, man.
But, I'm NOT gay.
No sir, not me.
Never me, sir.
In fact, sir, I hate Cocks.

I's love's me's some 'pussy' though.

Anyways.

I neeeed a shot.

I upend the bottle
And pour down it's gory contents.

It burns.
Oh, it burns.

Like Ho' Lee
H2o.

Scalding Satan.

But I stay healthy.
Oh, I stay healthy.

Oh, I write with impulse.

Because.

Just Because.

Capital 'B'

Just Because.

Oh, Mr. Ociffer,
You can go fuck yourself.

I'm completely sober.
Thumbs at 10 and 2.

I'd take a swing at you.

If only you would trash your shiny brass badge.
That's alliteration, just so ya know.

Cuff me, motherfucker.
Beat me senseless
for hours on end.

You know I fucking love it.

You've got all that time on your hands.

I bet you've got something else on your hands.

It's dark and sticky and pours from my heart.

I display.

But you don't display.

You hide.
You hide behind your polish.

Hey Ginsberg, your Marijuana mind is going to Hell.

Just to let you know,
hell's a bad place.

I'm definitely going there,
and so I's need's a shot.

Just to let you know,
I've watched cartoons,

And...

Hell's a place with horned red men.

Whore-ned-red-men.

And Satyrs, I guess.

Spell it out, Idiot!

I'm so drunk and tired.

But I Think I Understand.

You don't understand, 'Mr. Party-er.'

I hate you, sir.

You wear Greek letters,
But you don't know them, sir.
They're a bunch of symbols, sir.

Read it, and ponder
You stoo-pid Sonofabitch.

Yah, Bro, Let's get drunk.
In 10 years we'll be rich.

Then we'll stop drinking.

Those Dunderheads.
See 'em at Church every Sunday.
Worshipping.

Lamenting.

Mindless Partier

Turns into

Devout Businessman.

But some of us live on
in other people's minds.

Oh Beats, you're certainly rotting now.

I'll be there one day.

Dead and careless,
Screwing Maggots.