When they both fall into bed.
The night I own.
I hope they're not angry.
My piss
smells of asparagus.
I pick bottles
in my sleep
to
afford love.
I'd trade
desire
for black eyes.
And I'd fight for real love.
The love that
is canned
and stocked
on
my shelf.
About Me
- Dale Hunt
- He's become comfortable in that ol' civil war jacket. What would compliment that mess of hair? A sage cigarette, a bottle in his hand and a book in his pocket. A hobo at heart a drunk by night and a rambling pain. Tired and old before his time. Studying the greats Bukowski, Tom Waits William S. Burroughs and Hunter S. Thompson, Kerouac and John Steinbeck. Drinking Brandy and Cockspur rum from the bottle. Hiding down South for the winter months running from the cold and consequence.
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