my style

I watch the jocks come out in the post parade
and one will win the race, the others will lose
but each jock must win sometime at some race
on some day, and he must do it often enough
or he is no longer a jockey.

it’s like each of us sitting over a typewriter
tonight or tomorrow or next week or next month.
it’s like the girls on the street trying to score
for their pimp
and they have to do it well enough
or they are no longer whores
and we have to do it well enough
or we’re whores who can’t score.

I would like a little less deliberateness
in the structure.

I became a writer but when I was a boy
I used to dream of becoming the village idiot,
I used to lay in bed and imagine myself that idiot,
planning ways to get food easily and sympathy easily,
a planned confusion of not too much love or
effort.

some would claim that I have succeeded
in this.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1979
Source
Original manuscript
This poem appeared in the following books: