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Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski

guru

big black beard
tells me
that I don’t feel
terror
 
I look at him
my gut rattles
gravel
 
I see his eyes
look upward
 
he’s strong
 
has dirty fingernails
 
and upon the walls:
scabbards.
 
he knows things:
 
books
the odds
the best road
home
 
I like him
but I think he
lies
 
(I’m not sure
he lies)
 
his wife sits
in a dark
corner
 
when I first met
her she was the
most beautiful
woman
I had ever
seen
 
now she has
become
his twin
 
perhaps not his
fault:
 
perhaps the thing
does us all
like that
 
yet after I leave
their house
I feel terror
 
the moon looks
diseased
 
my hands slip
on the
steering wheel
 
I get my car
out
and down the
hill
 
almost crash it
into a
blue-green
parked car
clod me forever,
Beatrice
 
wavering poet, ha
haha
 
dinky dog of
terror.

#Americans #XXCentury #1977 #LoveIsADogFromHell

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I am a panther shut up and bellowi… cement walls, and I am angry at bl… evenings without ventilation and I am angry with you, and it wi… like a rose
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Post Office. Chapter I: 4

When Jonstone saw me the next 5 a.m. he spun in his swivel and his face and his shirt were the same color. But he said nothing. I didn’t care. I had been up to 2 a.m. drinking and screw...
Post Office. Chapter IV: 11

The boys on Dorsey station didn’t know my problems. I’d enter through the back way each night, hide my sweater in a tray and walk in to get my timecard: We had a game going, the black-w...
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I see you drinking at a fountain w… blue hands, no, your hands are not… they are small, and the fountain i… where you wrote me that last lette… I answered and never heard from yo…
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they stop out front here looks as if the car is on fire the smoke blazes blue from the hoo… the motor sounds like cannon shots the car humps wildly
Post Office. Chapter III: 10

The funeral was to be at 10:30 a.m. but it was already hot. I had on a cheap black suit, bought and fitted in a rush. It was my first new suit in years. I had located the son. We drove ...
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escape from the black widow spider is a miracle as great as art. what a web she can weave slowly drawing you to her she’ll embrace you
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here I am in the ground my mouth open and



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