Wax Job (Charles Bukowski Poems)
man, he said, sitting on the steps your car sure needs a wash and wax job I can do it ...
man, he said, sitting on the steps your car sure needs a wash and wax job I can do it ...
yes, they begin out in a willow, I think the starch mountains begin out in the willow and keep right ...
was a truly amazing manhe pretended to bericheven though we lived on beans and mush and weenieswhen we sat down ...
broke his bank, totaled his car and slept withhis wife.of course, everybody was sleeping with hiswife but a nicer guy ...
starving there, sitting around the bars, and at night walking the streets for hours, the moonlight always seemed fake to ...
there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average human being to supply any given army on any given ...
either peace or happiness, let it enfold you when i was a young man I felt these things were dumb,unsophisticated. ...
the final curtain on one of the longest running musicals ever, some people claim to have seen it over one ...
the lady has me temporarily off the bottle and now the pecker stands up better. however, things change overnight-- instead ...
we have everything and we have nothing and some men do it in churches and some men do it by ...
I say to my woman, "Jeffers was a great poet. think of a title like Be Angry At The Sun. ...
they found him walking along the freeway all red in front he had taken a rusty tin can and cut ...
drunk on the dark streets of some city, it's night, you're lost, where's your room? you enter a bar to ...
There are sketches on the walls of men and women and ducks, and outside a large green bus swerves through ...
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever but it just doesn't rain like it used to. I particularly remember the ...
majestic, majic infinite my little girl is sun on the carpet- out the door picking a flower, ha! an old ...
in the hospitals and jails it's the worst in madhouses it's the worst in penthouses it's the worst in skid ...
ah, christ, what a CREW: more poetry, always more P O E T R Y . if it doesn't come, ...
death wants more death, and its webs are full: I remember my father's garage, how child-like I would brush the ...
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