Broken-brained, manually maniacal
And he will manage to somehow marry these haphazard words back together again

No less glad-eyed intensified by the knife-edged dereliction of settled-to-soar, procedure-list his

He’s an infidelity seeker and she sees it every single night
Besmirched to give birth to the brand new Chuck

Mildly, mightily misshapen, perhaps the lapse in concentrated concentration’s exactly where the light reaches and trickles its infallible way in – unaccountably, uncontrollably meanders at liquified ease
One way or an alcohol-fuelled, felled other – by the quake of cautionary daybreak, soon as the early-a.m. tends to pretending, fending for itself, til it rearranges, prearranges these roaming words so soon as to make comforting kinds of over-qualified fictional sense again

Born to breathe by the typewritten word, splurged to instil and the visual is recklessly real
Ink-spiller, whore-thriller, simply pick it up, sift delicately between… and lean thumb-torn in… and taste and b-l-e-e-d it all at wickerword pace til able to suggestively say when

Bukowski makes seriously noteworthy sense, seemingly… drenched by pedestrianised promiscuity

And she stands hands-down standalone bedridden upon her pleasing knees and teases the last sip of beer from him
Her blood-thirsty smile says it all, really

The rip-torn, blatantly rip-roaring story lies within their pair of disheveled faces – part imperfectly perfected aside part unashamedly paralysed, either way mysteriously infectious if never whatsoever symmetrical

Amazing Art credit to @chuckhodi