#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
The jew bent over and died. 99 machine guns were shipped to France. somebody w… while I inspected the propeller of an old monoplane
red summers and black satin charcoal and blood ringing the sheets while snails are stepped on and moths go batty
washed—up, on shore, the old yello… out again I write from the bed as I did last year.
they go on writing pumping out poems— young boys and college professors wives who drink wine all afternoon while their husbands work,
had lost the last race big somebody had stolen my coat could feel the flu coming on and my tires were low. I went in to get a
The first thing I remember is being under something. It was a table, I saw a table leg, I saw the legs of the people, and a portion of the tablecloth hanging down. It was dark under the...
That evening after dinner Joanna produced some mescaline. “You ever tried this stuff?” Joanna had some paints and brushes and paper spread on the table. Then I remembered she was an art...
the legs are gone and the hopes—th… and I haven’t shaved in sixteen da… but the mailman still makes his ro… water still comes out of the fauce… myself with glazed and milky eyes…
sleepy now at 4 a.m. hear the siren of a white ambulance,
Lydia’s sister Angela came to town from Utah to see Lydia’s new house. Lydia had made a down payment on a little place and the monthly payments were very low. It was a very good buy. Th...
the house next door makes me sad. both man and wife rise early and go to work. they arrive home in early evening.
places to hunt places to hide are getting harder to find, and pet canaries and goldfish too, did you… that?
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.
“your poems about the girls will s… 50 years from now when the girls a… my editor phones me. dear editor: the girls appear to be gone
the acute and terrible air hangs w… as summer birds mingle in the bran… and warble and mystify the clamor of the mind… an old parrot