Tags: charles bukowski

-- In my vampire heart

the suicide kid - Charles Bukowski

I went to the worst of bars
hoping to get
killed.
but all I could do was to
get drunk
again.
worse, the bar patrons even
ended up
liking me.
there I was trying to get
pushed over the dark
edge
and I ended up with
free drinks
while somewhere else
some poor
son-of-a-bitch was in a hospital
bed,
tubes sticking out all over
him
as he fought like hell
to live.
nobody would help me
die as
the drinks kept
coming,
as the next day
waited for me
with its steel clamps,
its stinking
anonymity,
its incogitant
attitude.
death doesn't always
come running
when you call
it,
not even if you
call it
from a shining
castle
or from an ocean liner
or from the best bar
on earth (or the
worst).
such impertinence
only makes the gods
hesitate and
delay.
ask me: I'm
72.
JWW: I have seen a thousand fractures

You Write Many Poems About Death - Charles Bukowski

yes, and here's another one
and later it might even end up in one of my
books.

and
the book will be sitting on a
shelf
waiting for you
long after I am
gone.

think of that:
in a sense I will be speaking again
just for you.

and remember this:
the page you are looking at
now,
I once typed the words
with care
with you in mind
under a yellow
light
with the radio
on.

If you think about death
long enough
I have found
it belongs
it makes sense
just like

this typewriter
this match book
this paper clip

and
the next page
and the next poem
after this
one.