All right, so I might have stretched the truth a little. I did not write all of these abominations from the 56th floor of 2 World Trade Center. They were, nonetheless, all written on IBM mainframe computers in various state offices in multiple complexes, in a midlife working odyssey that took me from lower Manhattan to Albany and back again. These experiences will later be compiled into a fictional narrative titled “Doctor Lunch,” but that’s another, much longer story. This poem, which ironically was penned a few months before I first heard the name Charles Bukowski, seems to set the darkly comic tone of the era, which, while tons of fun and looking rather pointless to the casual observer, served as the incubator for all that came after.
Arrrrrrgh.
Why is it so easy for me to picture this? Oh, yeah, I'm American...