Poetry Blogs (bukowski)

Balancing my brains with bourbon in some back-ally Brooklyn bar
nighthawks that had lost hope looking for the diner, perched in a meticulous row like tin ducks on a crooked shooting gallery on Coney Island

The fella to my right was coyly flirting with a glass of miller draft, his hands embraced around but not to tight, so that it didn’t slip through his fingersas the love of a good woman once ...

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Beethoven
deaf sonofabitch
always close
to going
over the top
and very close
to not coming back
the one composer
whose music
makes me cry
an ugly
noisy sort
I am a cold fish
fully grown

he must have been
as well
to make me fly
like that
who else
can express
storms in the
aquarium
that is a world
of silence?
Deaf sonofabitch
Beethoven
Try clavier 5
symphony 6
moonlight...

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