Skip to main content

playing it out



there are only two men I can really
relate to in this world and
one is on his deathbed
and the other, well, his wife
just ran away from him.
and I sit here typing
these things
drunk
as everybody else in the
neighbourhood is
asleep except for
two dogs
barking
at the sound of these
keys.
it’s strange, I think,
that the best I know are
in trouble
while the worst are
healthy, calm and
prosperous;
they are also exception-
ally dull
and consider themselves
my friends.
I keep typing these
drunk poems
sitting in this chair
smoking too many
cigarettes
and not understanding
anything

 Charles Bukowski. “War All the Time”

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Girl on the escalator By Charles Bukowski

 " As I go to the escalator A young fellow and a lovely young girl Are ahead of me. Her pants, her blouse are skin-tight. As we ascend, she rests one foot On the step above and her behind Assumes a fascinating shape. The young man looks all around he appears worried, He looks at me. I look away. No, young man, I am not looking, I am not looking at your girl's behind. Don’t worry, I respect her and I respect you. In fact, I respect everything; the flowers that grow, young women, Children, all the animals, our precious complicated universe, everyone and everything. I sense that the young man now feels better and I am glad for him. I know his problem: the girl has a mother, a father, maybe a sister or a brother, And undoubtedly a bunch of unfriendly relatives And she likes to dance and flirt and she like to go to the movies and sometimes She talks and chews at the same time and She enjoys really dumb TV shows and she thinks she's a budding actress and ...

A Love Poem By Charles Bukowski

all the women all their kisses the different ways they love and talk and need. their ears they all have ears and throats and dresses and shoes and automobiles and ex- husbands. mostly the women are very warm they remind me of buttered toast with the butter melted in. there is a look in the eye: they have been taken they have been fooled. I don’t quite know what to do for them. I am a fair cook a good listener but I never learned to dance—I was busy then with larger things. but I’ve enjoyed their different beds smoking cigarettes staring at the ceilings. I was neither vicious nor unfair. only a student. I know they all have these feet and barefoot they go across the floor as I watch their bashful buttocks in the dark. I know that they like me, some even love me but I love very few. some give me oranges and vitamin pills; others talk quietly of childhood and fathers and landscapes; some are almost crazy but none of them are without meaning...