you were one of the best female poets and I told the publishers, editors, “ Her, print her, she’s mad but she’s magic, there’s no lie in her fire.” I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom, but that didn’t happen.
- Charles Bukowski, from An Almost Made Up Poem
Monday, June 6, 2011
drinking weak coffee strung together by weak sleep
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