GENIUS

I get it.
I get it.
You've got the whole life thing
figured out.
You are having deeply gratifying sex
on a regular basis.
You are living in your dream home
with your dream person
and the pancakes always
arrive right on time
with the right amount
of butter or Earth Balance
if you're extra
and organic maple syrup
or manuka honey
if you're Gwyneth Paltrow.
Happy birthday, Gwyneth Paltrow.
You like literally give me permission
to be my most authentic goddess self.
GOOP por vida.
Hurrah.
Hurrah.
I just received my second copy of
the first Bukowski collection I ever purchased.
I drove to Decatur from Bridgeport
in 2000 when I was working but not really
for The Bridgeport Index.
I wanted to learn how to play the piano
drunk like a percussion instrument
until my fingers began to bleed a bit.
One night I got stressed because I couldn't
get online and I smoked a pack of menthols.
Another night I was upset because I had 
a crush on a poet who lived in Wisconsin
and I was too inept to open a goddamn bottle
of bottom shelf riesling
so I broke the neck in my bathtub
and I drank it and cried.
Bukowski is gone but I'm still here.
There's a bottle of bottom shelf champagne
in the refrigerator but I've got to be sober
so that I can keep making
sick fat beats and shit posting
at X until Elon asks me to be his next baby mama.
Lo siento, sweetheart.

I ain't got no uterus

and I'm in love with two or three
different ghosts.
It never was about the money for me.
Just fuck me until I'm exhausted
then let me play with my puppets in peace.
I am in fact a genius but no one will know this
until I've been dead for a thousand or more years.
I'm going to the same paradise as Gwyneth.
She will sure be surprised to see me there and so will
Ava Gardner and Elizabeth Taylor.
Us glamour girls gotta stick together.
Celestial tits!
Celestial pussy!
Oh I can already feel it.