An Observation I Had One Day While Reading Bukowski

Why is it,

Mr. Bukowski—

if I may

refer to you

in formal terms—

that every time

I read your poetry

I feel like…


your poetry?

Small and dirty

and sad

and a bit mad

and in desperate need

of a gin and tonic

made with two

parts whiskey

and one part

what’s the

fuckin’ point?

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