dumb,
Jesus Christ,
some people are so dumb
you can hear them
splashing around

starving there, sitting around the
and at night walking the streets f
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,

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

they talk down through
the centuries to us,
and this we need more and more,
the statues and paintings
in midnight age

I have just spent one—hour—and—a—h
handicapping tomorrow’s
card.
when am I going to get at the poem
well, they’ll just have to wait

we are always asked
to understand the other person’s
viewpoint
no matter how
out—dated

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,

lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex—pug selling
dailies on the corner.

I can’t have it
and you can’t have it
and we won’t
get it
so don’t bet on it

I’ve come by, she says, to tell yo
that this is it. I’m not kidding,
over. this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her ar
her long red hair before my bedroo