Bukowski flu

There was a blue haunting bird under his skin
Most definitely, it was…
Those whiskey showers, those endless nights lost
between some unknown, wide spread legs
wearing nothing but very high heels
sucking the humanity out of him
leaving behind only
bluish birds
from time to time a thrill draining through rusted veins
as a poem

There was a blue bird hauntingly trying to escape from
that ongoing intoxication
sure it was…
A poem, a thrill…. anything
just let me feel
that underneath your thick skin
a bird is having a blue flu,

2 thoughts on “Bukowski flu

  1. Louis Kasatkin

    For the purposes of general enlightenment and a more informed appreciation of this poem, ,I append the following from Wikipedia.
    Henry Charles Bukowski (born Heinrich Karl Bukowski; August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994) was a German-born American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles.[4] It is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, eventually publishing over sixty books. In 1986 Time called Bukowski a “laureate of American lowlife”.[5] Regarding Bukowski’s enduring popular appeal, Adam Kirsch of The New Yorker wrote, “the secret of Bukowski’s appeal. . . [is that] he combines the confessional poet’s promise of intimacy with the larger-than-life aplomb of a pulp-fiction hero.”


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