On Loneliness, Charles Bukowski, and how I owe my sanity after my divorce to my cat

On Loneliness, Charles Bukowski, and how I owe my sanity after my divorce to my cat

On Charles Bukowski

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh. 

there’s no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

–alone with everybody by Charles Bukowski, from Love Is A Dog From Hell (1977)

Charles Bukowski. An alcoholic dirty old man with a gambling addiction. A writer of prose and poetry. I should find everything about him odious, but his book of poetry called Love Is A Dog From Hell has been perhaps the most influential piece of writing in my life.

Continue reading “On Loneliness, Charles Bukowski, and how I owe my sanity after my divorce to my cat”

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