A 340 Dollar Horse And A Hundred Dollar Whore (Charles Bukowski Poems)
don't ever get the idea I am a poet; you can see me at the racetrack any day half drunk ...
don't ever get the idea I am a poet; you can see me at the racetrack any day half drunk ...
too much too little too fattoo thinor nobody. laughter ortears haterslovers strangers with faces likethe backs ofthumb tacks armies running ...
the German hotel was very strange and expensive and haddouble doors to the rooms, very thick doors, and it over-looked ...
I am in this low-slung sports carpainted a deep, rich yellowdriving under an Italian sun.I have a British accent.I'm wearing ...
he hooked to the body hard took it well and loved to fight had seven in a row and a ...
George was lying in his trailer, flat on his back, watching a small portable T.V. His dinner dishes were undone, ...
some say we should keep personal remorse from the poem, stay abstract, and there is some reason in this, but ...
Van Gogh cut off his ear gave it to a prostitute who flung it away in extreme disgust. Van, whores ...
often it is the only thing between you and impossibility. no drink, no woman's love, no wealth can match it. ...
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever but it just doesn't rain like it used to. I particularly remember the ...
To end up alone in a tomb of a room without cigarettes or wine-- just a lightbulb and a potbelly, ...
ah, christ, what a CREW: more poetry, always more P O E T R Y . if it doesn't come, ...
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