1229 4 2
|
To Charles Bukowski "I haven't shat or pissed in seven years," she tells him, negotiating each word around the Marlboro. Because he doesn't know what else to say, Isaiah asks, "Haven't you seen a …
|
12910
|
I lied about the calm/
there was no pastoral mum sweeping the open.
|
62107
|
“it's never enough...
no matter
how good you are
compared to the team..."
|
151054
|
The apartment was a second-level place, so I went down the steps and looked through the stained glass window of the door. “Ah hell,” I said to myself. Raymond Carver and John Fante and Charles Bukowski were outside. I opened the door.
|
25944
|
I like to think of Bukowski and meknocking back beers in some downtown LA bar, Buk telling me some tale of ordinary madness (“Man, you shoulda seen the big old ass on her, I loved to hang onto it while we fucked.”) as I stare, nodding, at…
|
16782118
|
sometimes the urge to write
is like the urge to fuck
|
109086
|
I haven’t read many of them, these poets
that they speak of – Whitman and his Leaves
Of Grass, Mary Oliver and her wild life
|
8776
|
this roaster of loins, searer of egos
|
