Dirty Nasty Gorgeous Charles.

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Anyone ever read Mr Bukowski? With his dirty fingernails scraping the bodies of young women? With his beer belly and his inertia? With his nasty anecdotes and late night fuck fests with the great unwashed passers by? I had the immense joy (if it can be called that, the man singularly dashed all my hopes) of reading an entire book of his poems in Seattle two years ago. Yesterday I was introduced to the gem below by my lovely poetician room mate ,JJ, who will be showcased here asap as well.
Breakups all around us, sighs and tears for lovers, other new bodies that ignite slumbered senses, and the cycle of being Alone With Everybody never ends. Befitting this week.


Alone with Everybody
Charles Bukowski

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there’s no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

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