the ghost of charles bukowski haunts my hollywood bungalo

he says

i know some times you try to be like me

dont do it.

he whispers i wasnt all that happy you know

he pushes me away from the west side

he nudges me from going into the val

the ghost of charles bukowski hides the remotes from my tv

and doesnt really want me to get another tv, this one for the living room

because he likes the fact that when the ladies come over, if they wanna watch tv

they have to go in the bedroom and sit on the bed

because if theres one thing your favorite writer enjoyed it was rooms

with no couches no chairs no nonsense

just music and wine and a bed

and a writer

and a subject.

todays subject is love.

just like every day.