the canaries were there, and the l… and the old woman with warts; and I was there, a child and I touched the piano keys as they talked—

I was sitting in my shorts one afternoon a week later. There was a tender little knock on the door. “Just a moment,” I said. I put on a robe and opened the door. “We’re two girls from G...

women don’t know how to love, she told me. you know how to love but women just want to leech.

In bed I had something in front o… “Sorry, baby,” I said. Then I ro… Then something awakened me. It wa… “Go, baby, go!” I told her. I arched my back now and then. Sh…

the men phone and ask me that. are you really Charles Bukowski the writer? they ask. I’m a sometimes writer, I say, most often I don’t do anything.

up in northern California he stood in the pulpit and had been reading for some time he had been reading poems about nature and the goodness

I paid this one’s fare all the way… to San Francisco then flew up to meet her at her br… and I got drunk and talked all night about a redhe…

my daughter is most glorious. we are eating a takeout snack in my car in Santa Monica.

My father always ran the neighborhood kids away from our house. I was told not to play with them but I walked down the street and watched them anyhow. “Hey, Heinie!” they yelled, “Why d...

are more beautiful than movie stars and they lounge on the lawn sunbathing

I hear them outside: “does he always type this late?” “no, it’s very unusual.” “he shouldn’t type this

she was hot, she was so hot I didn’t want anybody else to have… and if I didn’t get home on time she’d be gone, and I couldn’t bear… I’d go mad. . .