1. Thursday, January 21, 2010

    oj and courtney and everyone but you 

    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.
    i still want my little girl.