Poetry is what happens when nothing else can.

when I am feelinglowall i have to do iswatch my catsand mycouragereturns

girlsplease give yourbodies and yourlivestothe young menwhodeserve thembesidesthere isno wayI would welcometheintolerabledullsenseless hellyou would bringmeandI wish youluckin bedandoutbut notinminethankyou.

there's no clarity.there was never meant to be clarity.

sometimes when everything seems atits worstwhen all conspiresand gnawsand the hours, days, weeksyearsseem wasted – stretched there upon my bedin the darklooking upward at the ceilingi get what many will consider anobnoxious thought:it’s still nice to beBukowski.

when we were kidslaying around the lawnon ourbellies we often talkedabouthowwe'd like todie andwe allagreed on thesamething; we'd alllike to diefucking (althoughnone of ushaddone anyfucking) and nowthatwe are hardlykidsany longer we think moreabouthownot todie andalthoughwe'reready most ofuswouldprefer todo italone under thesheets nowthat most ofus have fuckedour livesaway.

having nothing to struggleagainstthey have nothing to strugglefor.

Most people are much better at saying things in letters than in conversation, and some people can write artistic, inventive letters, but when they try a poem or story or novel they become pretentious.

the best part waspulling down theshadesstuffing the doorbellwith ragsputting the phonein therefrigeratorand going to bedfor 3 or 4days. and the next bestpartwasnobody evermissedme.