<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354576" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Back To The Machine Gun</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail<br>in my old torn bathrobe.<br>I'm hung over<br>hair down in my eyes<br>barefoot<br>gingerly walking on the small sharp rocks<br>in my path<br>still afraid of pain behind my four-day beard. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">the young housewife next door shakes a rug<br>out of her window and sees me:<br>&quot;hello, Hank!&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">god damn! it's almost like being shot in the ass<br>with a .22 </div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;hello,&quot; I say<br>gathering up my Visa card bill, my Pennysaver coupons,<br>a Dept. of Water and Power past-due notice,<br>a letter from the mortgage people<br>plus a demand from the Weed Abatement Department<br>giving me 30 days to clean up my act. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I mince back again over the small sharp rocks<br>thinking, maybe I'd better write something tonight,<br>they all seem<br>to be closing in. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">there's only one way to handle those motherfuckers. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">the night harness races will have to wait.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Bukowski">Charles Bukowski</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354576" data-title="Back To The Machine Gun de Charles Bukowski" data-description="I awaken about noon and go out to get the mail in my old torn bathrobe. I'm hung over hair down in my eyes barefoot gingerly walking on the small sharp rocks in my path still afraid of pain behind my four-day beard. the young housewife next door..."></div> </div> </div>

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