5th Poemonday: Charles Bukowski

This, I admit, is a bit of an early post but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth already.

Raw With Love

by Charles Bukowski

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
i won’t blame
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won’t blame you,
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won’t use it


Charles Bukowski is a hard pill to swallow for some people who enjoy poetry and oddly, he is a cult figure for people who couldn’t possibly choke down one stanza of Robert Frost. Before you google him up, if you don’t know about him, I’m calling both colors to the table to let the words speak for themselves. I really enjoy Bukowski, and can endlessly drink up his words, rough hewn dark images drunkenly weaving in back alleys, seedy underbelly of the country,  and hard, brittle sunlight.  I believe he was a misanthrope, but many people take that as misogyny. Decide for yourself.

I regret, and yet I regret nothing but the knife came all the same.


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