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,
...

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
...

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

not much chance,
completely cut loose from
purpose,
he was a young man
...

They don't make it
the beautiful die in flame-
suicide pills, rat poison, rope what-
ever...
...

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