• To The Whore Who Took My Poems
    some say we should keep personal remorse from the 
    stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
    but jezus;
    twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
    paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
    are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
    why didn't you take my money? they usually do
    from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
    next time take my left arm or a fifty
    but not my poems:
    I'm not Shakespeare
    but sometime simply
    there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise; 
    there'll always be mony and whores and drunkards
    down to the last bomb,
    but as God said,
    crossing his legs,
    I see where I have made plenty of poets
    but not so very much
    Charles Bukowski
    poster I made as a birthday present for my best buddy
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