One can never be sure whether it's good poetry or bad acid

'Small houses and courts with mail boxes full of spiders, mailboxes hanging by one nail, old women inside rolling cigarettes and chewing tobacco and humming to their canaries and watching you, an idiot lost in the rain.'

That idiot was me today. An idiot in a wetsuit and a shirt that said 'fun safe and easy'. Oh lordy


What a beer gut. Despite this gut, according to Bukowski he had nice legs.
Sure you do, you dirty-old-man-genius.