bukowski
lived his life
under
the blinking moon
of neon whores
with too much rouge
happy hour booze
barstool blackouts
always ready
to drink, screw & fight
then go
another three rounds
a mad man
banging
on the underwood
bukowski
hocked poems
for women
whiskey
& smokes
for a ten dollar exacta
–never bet on a bay
for a slice
of life that after
8 or 9 beers
just might
get better
bukowski
lived his life
the ugliest
drunken
bastard
ever
to get it
right
(this post got me thinking–may have been inspired here)
May 18, 2008 at 12:56 am |
great post. bukowski’s such an interesting mix of wonderful and terrible. i think you captured that here.
May 18, 2008 at 8:53 am |
Brilliant, love this Scot……yes, Lissa’s right, the wonderfulterrible,
May 18, 2008 at 3:39 pm |
Can’t disagree with the ladies, Scot, I think you captured his spirit. Isn’t it ironic that sometimes perfection can only be defined by its antithesis?
May 18, 2008 at 6:33 pm |
thanks lissa
May 18, 2008 at 6:34 pm |
Jo
love him or hate him–no in between. It is amazing how many artists are like that.
May 18, 2008 at 6:36 pm |
Bob
It is ironic and you are right about disagreeing–not a good practice.