here comes the fishhead singing
here comes the baked potato in dra
here comes nothing to do all day l
here comes another night of no sle
here comes the phone wringing the

he was 65, his wife was 66, had
Alzheimer’s disease.
he had cancer of the
mouth.
there were

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
whores

she was a short one
getting fat and she had once been
beautiful and
she drank the wine
she drank the wine in bed and

I read last Saturday in the
redwoods outside of Santa Cruz
and I was about 3/4's finished
when I heard a long high scream
and a quite attractive

death wants more death, and its we
I remember my father’s garage, how
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were
their sticky, ugly, vibrant bodies

each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,

once
we were young
at this
machine. . .
drinking

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

I was standing in line at the bank
when the old fellow in front of me
dropped his glasses (luckily, with
case)
and as he bent over