sometimes you climb out of bed in
I’m not going to make it, but you
remembering all the times you’ve f
you walk to the bathroom, do your
in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my,

Making love in the sun, in the mor
in a hotel room
above the alley
where poor men poke for bottles;
making love in the sun

first time my father overheard me
this bit of music he asked me,
“what is it?”
“it’s called Love For Three Oran
I informed him.

this man used to be an
interesting writer,
he was able to say brisk and
refreshing things.
at the time

they found him walking along the f
all red in
front
he had taken a rusty tin can
and cut off his sexual

the vultures at the zoo
(all three of them)
sit very quietly in their
caged tree
and below

god I got the sad blue blues,
this woman sat there and she
said
are you really Charles
Bukowski?

I read that he lost a suitcase ful
train and that they never were rec
I can’t match the agony of this
but the other night I wrote a 3—pa
upon this computer

drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end o
of wine, I have typed from a dozen
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young gi

the critics now have me
drinking champagne and
driving a BMW
and also married to a
socialite from