a good friend and colleague
who edited this prestigious
East Coast lit mag once
told me over a few shots
of Hornitos how Bukowski
one time had sent him some
poems with a note saying "if
you don't like these, I'll write
some more" or some shit
like that and I thought that
was tits just about to the
point if you're King of the
Mountain like these Rock Stars
singing about being poor and
I went home to go reread
The Roominghouse Madrigals