too early, too late, and never…

there are always some people who will
phone a man at 9 a.m.
when he is beastly sick and
hungover.

I always dispatch
these
with a few violent
words
and the
banging of the
receiver

knowing that their
morning eagerness
means that
they’ve wasted the
preceding
night

and most likely
the days and
years.

that such could
conceive
that
I’d ever want to
speak to
them
is an insult
to
whatever forces of
life
are left
in our dwindling
universe.

Like this website? Support it.
I want to bring all of Bukowski's poems online and make then freely available. This means hundreds of hours of work to retype over 1,000 of his poems from the original manuscripts. Your donations will help support this work.