More Buk’
I couldn’t find my copy of Play The Piano Drunk Like A Percussion Instrument Until The Fingers Begin To Bleed A Bit today, so I wasn’t able to post my favorite Bukowski poem earlier on. Lo and behold, it was returned to me just this evening. Without further interruption, I give you Charles Bukowski.
the souls of dead animals after the slaughterhouse there was a bar around the corner and I sat in there and watched the sun go down through the window, a window that overlooked a lot full of tall dry weeds. I never showered with the boys at the plant after work so I smelled of sweat and blood. the smell of sweat lessens after a while but the blood-smell begins to fulminate and gain power. I smoked cigarettes and drank beer until I felt good enough to board the bus with the souls of all those dead animals riding with me; heads would turn slightly women would rise and move away from me. when I got off the bus I only had a block to walk and one stairway up to my room where I'd turn on my radio and light a cigarette and nobody minded me at all.