Poem by Henry Charles Bukowski

luck

once
we were young
at this
machine. . .
drinking
smoking
typing
it was a most
splendid
miraculous
time
still
is
only now
instead of
moving toward
time
it
moves toward
us
makes each word
drill
into the
paper
clear
fast
hard
feeding a
closing
space.

1. The Aliens
2. how is your heart?
3. a challenge to the dark
4. big night on the town
5. poetry readings

Print

1691 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version