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Charles Bukowski

Charles Bukowski

Here I Am ...

drunk again at 3 a.m. at the end of my 2nd bottle
of wine, I have typed from a dozen to 15 pages of
poesy
an old man
maddened for the flesh of young girls in this
dwindling twilight
liver gone
kidneys going
pancrea pooped
top—floor blood pressure

#Americans #XXCentury

2
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Altre opere di Charles Bukowski...
Rhyming Poem

the goldfish sing all night with g… and the whores go down with the st… the whores go down with the stars I’m sorry, sir, we close at 4:30, besides yr mother’s neck is dirty,
twins

hey, said my friend, I want you to… Hangdog Harry, he reminds me of y… and I said, all right, and we went… this cheap hotel. old men sitting around watching
 1
, by Vlah Dumitru
The Soldier, His Wife and the Bum

I was a bum in San Francisco but… to go to a symphony concert along… and the music was good but somethi… audience was not and something about the orchestra
 1
 19
pacific telephone

you go for these wenches, she said… you go for these whores, I’ll bore you. I don’t want to be shit on anymore… I said,
cancer

half-past nowhere alone in the crumbling tower of myself stumbling in this the
Post Office. Chapter VI: 5

I found that the only way I could keep from dizzy-spelling into my case was to get up and take a walk now and then. Fazzio, a supervisor who had the station at the time, saw me walking ...
Post Office. Chapter II: 5

So gramps wrote Joyce a big check and there we were. We rented a little house up on a hill, and then Joyce got this stupid moralistic thing. “We both ought to get jobs,” Joyce said, “to...
Post Office. Chapter VI: 1

I was sitting next to a young girl who didn’t know her scheme very well. “Where does 2900 Roteford go?" she asked me. "Try throwing it to 33," I told her. “You say you’re from Kansas Ci...
Death of the Historical Buddha (Nehan-zu), by Unknown artist
Nirvana

not much chance, completely cut loose from purpose, he was a young man riding a bus
 7
Post Office. Chapter III: 5

It was 12 hours a night, plus supervisors, plus clerks, plus the fact that you could hardly breathe in that pack of flesh, plus stale baked food in the “non-profit” cafeteria. Plus the ...
Letter To John Martin

Thanks for the good letter. I don’t think it hurts, sometimes, to remember where you came from. You know the places where I came from. Even the people who try to write about that or mak...
 4
Post Office. Chapter IV: 6

The next day we picked up some of her stuff at this motel. There was a little dark guy in there with a wart on the side of his nose. He looked dangerous. Hector was sitting on the edge ...
And the Moon and the Stars and the World

Long walks at night— that’s what good for the soul: peeking into windows watching tired housewives trying to fight off
 1
fear

he walks up to my Volks after I have parked and rocks it back and forth grinning around his
The Intellectual

she writes continually like a long nozzle spraying the air,



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