Stop me before I kill ..
or better yet before I write.
Last night I visited the Bukowski link that Kevynn has on his site, and it almost tempted me to try and write a poem, because, as you all know, I am the last survivor of the beat generation, at least in my own mind, and I could do it, but everyone hates poets, and besides ...

The cockroaches munch the half-eaten tamale,
As Kenton blows jazz,
And the paint flakes off the walls of my mind.
This is the story of our times.