The people look like flowers at last: new poems, paperback/charles bukowski

the gas line is leaking, the bird is gone from the cage, the skyline is dotted with vultures; Benny finally got off the stuff and Betty now has a job as a waitress; and the chimney sweep was quite delicate as he giggled up through the soot.

I walked miles through the city and recognized nothing as a giant claw ate at my stomach while the inside of my head felt airy as if I was about to go mad.

its not so much that nothing means anything but more that it keeps meaning nothing, theres no release, just gurus and self- appointed gods and hucksters.

the more people say, the less there is to say.

even the best books are dry sawdust.

--from fingernails; nostrils; shoelaces.