Bukowski Blogging

Not all of his work grabs me -- jumps out at me from unexpected corners, wrestles me to the ground and hog ties me in order to speak grand' abbondanzas of wondrous, hilarious beauty -- but when it does, I'm left breathless and lookin' for a smoke.

tough company

poems like gunslinger
sit around and
shoot holes in my windows

chew on my toilet paper

read the race results
take the phone off the
hook.

poems like gunslingers

ask me
what the hell my game is,

and
would I like to
shoot it out?

take it easy, I say,

the race is not to

the swift.

the poem sitting at the

south end of the couch

draws

says

balls off for that

one!

more of this here.