- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Bukowski Pissed In My Cornflakes
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Author's note:
Charles Bukowski is one of the better known poets from "The Beats" era (the 60's). His outspokenness and crude bluntness has always been a fascination of mine. Should you be offended by coarse language, continue no further. As always, thankyou for taking the time to read...
I saw this bastard
on my way to the track house
he was butchering chords
on some old-ass guitar
sounding like cat claws on a window
Guitar and voice
old and scratchy
like the tired stubble that forever grows
on this beaten face of mine
And I gave
I gave
I gave
him twenty dollars just
to shut the
fuck
up
- COMMENTS
Quiet_NY_Techover 12 years agoAuthorAh well, no. No hangover, but an astute observation. Bukowski oft wrote of stopping by the horse races, and his everyday life. I tried to sort of incorporate that into this.
PoissonSurLaLuneover 12 years agoI am going to hope/assume this poem was written with a hangover because it seems like such a perfect image for it. ^-^
