Thursday, July 25, 2013

The Female Bukowski

I am drinking scotch and soda
in a San Francisco  bar. My stiletto heels
worn, black suede  peeled down
to steel spikes that punctuate
the Brazilian wood. A brief bio
follows after: breath-liquored  blond
who sounds halfway between
 clear and  garbled.  A slim
transistor with buttons for dials
any stranger may twist or untwist
tuning the girl to his needs, his touch.
A girl who keeps sidestepping
the mirror  because she has no guts. A radio
that keeps playing the song
of a whiskey bird and that ruby
leather stool – meant for writing
or sometimes, just for crying.

The painting is by artist, Fabian Perez.

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