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
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
You always seem to evaporate a sigh of misguided strangeness in your breath
Hands constantly wrung together for forgotten fellow companions
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