Charles Bukowski
Channeling Charles Bukowski
I’ve been reading Charles Bukowski for days
While the mail went out and the mail came in
And the sun went up and the sun went down
And the foods went in and the foods went out
And I waited for your letter …reading Charles Bukowski
And your letter finally came and I didn’t want to write back
because then I’d have to wait
again
for your response.
And then I found the courage to be normal and I wrote to you
And now im not waiting
and and im wondering what that’s about.
But the waiting
it will come back…
And I can fill the space with what I do and what I must
And I’ll find the gap where the world is blank…my thoughts are blank
and the moon and sun hang in the sky and the only break in stillness
is the rise and fall of my own breath….
But the waiting will return
In the meantime
I’ll look for the raw truth of the world in the words of Charles
Bukowski who drank too much and abused himself because that’s what he
had to do to feel alive and I get that…it would be so easy to find
that place
but hell
to maintain
and Im amazed that Charles Bukowski never killed himself, or maybe he
did…just a slow death…just slow enough to get past the twisted turn of
his sex….the dark and the ugly…the beautiful trap of his fate.
I think I would have been one of those women who waited for Charles Bukowski
who waited to appear in the lines of his life…and maybe wanted to
change him…clean him up… But he couldn’t stand the ones who took his
filth away. That would be me…
waiting
and being an annoyance to Charles Bukowski.
And Im not getting synical sitting here reading Charles Bukowski for days
Quite the opposite in fact…Im looking for the truth in gutters, in
paper bags, in the space between the flakes of snow and in the way the
water on the sidewalks dries to draw the irregular shapes of
rectangles and sqaures. I can see him there in those loose squares
drinking and smoking and digging deep into the bowels of his darkness
for the truth…for something
and in this way he enters me and stays.
And in this way I quarter the longing of waiting for your words
And not waiting for your words.
And in this way I’m channeling Charles Bukowski.
