My favorite drunk

My First Affair With That Older Woman
By Charles Bukowski

When I look back now at the abuse I took from her
I feel shame that I was so innocent, but I must say she did match me drink for drink, and I realized that her life her feelings for things had been ruined along the way, and that I was no more than a temporary companion; she was ten years older, and mortally hurt by the past and the present; she treated me badly: desertion, other men; she brought me immense pain continually; she lied, stole; there was desertion: other men, yet we had our moments; and our little soap opera ended with her in a coma in the hospital, and I sat at her bed for hours talking to her, and then she opened her eyes and saw me:"I knew it would be you," she said. then she closed her eyes. the next day she was dead. I drank alone for two years after that.

Eulogy to a hell of a dame
Some dogs who sleep ay night must dream of bones / and I remember your bones in flesh and best in that dark green dress and those high-heeled bright black shoes / you always cursed when you drank / your hair coming down, you wanted to explode out of what was holding you: rotten memories of a rotten past, and you finally got out by dying, leaving me with the rotten present; you've been dead 28 years yet I remember you better than any of the rest; you were the only one who understood the futility of the arrangement of life; all the others were only displeased with trivial segments, carped nonsensically about nonsense; Jane, you were killed by knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that this dog still dreams about.


My photo
Compilation of aesthetic manifestations beyond compliance, bring us emancipation.