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Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski

cockroach

the cockroach crouched
against the tile
while I was pissing and as
I turned my head
he hauled his butt
into a crack.
I got the can and sprayed
and sprayed and sprayed
and finally the roach came out
and gave me a very dirty look.
then he fell down into
the bathtub and I watched
him dying
with a subtle pleasure
because I paid the rent
and he didn’t.
I picked him up with
some greenblue toilet
paper and flushed him
away. that’s all there
was to that, except
around Hollywood and
Western we have to
keep doing it.
they say some day that
tribe is going to
inherit the earth
but we’re going to
make them wait a
few months.

#Americans #XXCentury #1977 #LoveIsADogFromHell

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Post Office. Chapter II: 12

Then the supervisor moved us to a new aisle. We had been there ten hours. “Before you begin,” the soup said, "I want to tell you some– thing. Each tray of this type of mail must be stuc...

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the area of pause

you have to have it or the walls will cl… in. you have to give everything up, throw it away, everything away. you have to look at what you look at

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there once was a woman who put her head into an oven

terror finally becomes almost bearable but never quite terror creeps like a cat crawls like a cat

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doom and siesta time

my friend is worried about dying he lives in Frisco I live in L.A. he goes to the gym and works with the iron and hits

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the world’s greatest loser

he used to sell papers in front: Get your winners! Get rich on a dime!” and about the 3rd or 4th race you’d see him rolling in on his rotten b… with roller skates underneath.

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The Sunday Artist

I have been painting these last two Sun… it’s not much, you’re correct, but in this tournament great dreams brea… history removes her dress and becomes a… and I have awakened in the morning

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an unkind poem

they go on writing pumping out poems— young boys and college professors wives who drink wine all afternoon while their husbands work,

#1977 #LoveIsADogFromHell

 1
closing time

around 2 a.m. in my small room after turning off the poem machine for now

#1993 #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned

so now?

the words have come and gone, I sit ill. the phone rings, the cats sleep. Linda vacuums. I am waiting to live,

#1993 #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned

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sweet music

it beats love because there aren’t any wounds: in the morning she turns on the radio, Brahms or Ives or Stravinsky or Mozart. she boils the eggs counting the seconds out loud: 56,

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Pull a String, a Puppet Moves

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

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something’s knocking at the door

a great white light dawns across the continent as we fawn over our failed traditions, often kill to preserve them or sometimes kill just to kill.

#1993 #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned

lost in San Pedro

no way back to Barcelona. the green soldiers have invaded the tomb… madmen rule Spain and during a heat wave in 1952 I buried… no way back to the Rock of Gibraltar.

#1993 #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned

beach trip

the strong men the muscle men there they sit down at the beach cocoa tans

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