name the poem (1 Viewer)

found it!

here I am

drunk at 3 a.m. at the bottom of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancreas pooped
top-floor blood pressure

while the fear of wasted years
laughs between my toes
no woman will live with me
no Florence Nightingale to watch
over me.

if I have a stroke I will lay here for six
days, my three cats hungrily ripping the flesh
from my legs, wrists, head

the radio playing classical music.

I promised myself never to write old man poems
but this one's funny, you see, excusable, be-
cause there''s
still more left
here at 3 a.m. and I am going to take this sheet from
the typer
pour another glass and
insert another
make love to the fresh new whiteness

maybe get lucky

first for
for you.

-- Charles Bukowski, War All The Time

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