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
Friday, June 3, 2011
Sundays are really good for capturing dreams... little snatches of imaginations that you throw away from Mondays to Saturdays because of the other person you have to morph yourself to be for the sake of corporate-financial necessity.
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