Charles Bukowski by Ron Campbell (Ink, pencil, welder’s pencil, correction fluid on paper bag.)
40,000 flies
torn by a temporary wind
we come back together again
check walls and ceilings for cracks and
the eternal spiders
wonder if there will be one more
woman
now
40.000 flies running the arms of my
soul
singing
I met a million dollar baby in a
5 and 10 cent
store
arms of my soul?
flies?
singing?
what kind of shit is
this?
it’s so easy to be a poet
and so hard to be
a man.
-Charles Bukowski
The Detourist 