Charles Bukowski Poems

death wants more death, and its webs are full:
I remember my father's garage, how child-like
I would brush the corpses of flies
from the windows they thought were escape-
...

the final curtain on one of the longest running
musicals ever, some people claim to have
seen it over one hundred times.
I saw it on the tv news, that final curtain:
...

225 days under grass
and you know more than I.
they have long taken your blood,
you are a dry stick in a basket.
...

I've come by, she says, to tell you
that this is it. I'm not kidding, it's
over. this is it.
I sit on the couch watching her arrange
...

each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
...

he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and loved
the way she told him things that seemed true
...

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
...

I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
classical music
...

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
...

he lives in a house with a swimming pool
and says the job is
killing him.
he is 27. I am 44. I can’t seem to
...