#1977 #AmericanWriters #LoveIsADogFromHell
sitting with the professors we talk about Allen Tate and John Crow Ransom the rugs are clean and the coffeetables shine
eating cold plums in bed she told me about the German who owned everything on the block except the custom drapery shop and he tried to buy
a woman told a man when he got off a plane that I was dead. a magazine printed the fact that I was dead
I’m out of matches. the springs in my couch are broken. they stole my footlocker. they stole my oil painting of
god I got the sad blue blues, this woman sat there and she said are you really Charles Bukowski?
I only met one student at City College that I liked, Robert Becker. He wanted to be a writer. “I’m going to learn everything there is to learn about writing. It will be like taking a ca...
half-past nowhere alone in the crumbling tower of myself stumbling in this the
Hugo Wolf went mad while eating a… and writing his 253rd song; it was… April and the worms came out of th… humming Tannhäuser, and he spilled… with his ink, and his blood fell o…
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
as the poems go into the thousands… realize that you’ve created very little. it comes down to the rain, the sun… the traffic, the nights and the da…
you know what Li Po said when ask… Artist or Rich? I’d rather be Rich,” he replied,… sitting on the doorsteps of the Rich.”
I’m in bed. it’s morning and I hear: where are your socks? please get dressed!
like the fox run with the hunted and if I’m not the happiest man on earth
the dead dogs of nowhere bark as you approach another traffic accident. cars one standing on its
swans die in the Spring too and there it floated dead on a Sunday sideways circling in the current