well, when you can’t write a poem

do as the others do, just put the words down:
“the Southern Slough of Summer has come by,
the exit fears no lurch,
the Spanish Dream Flounders,
the Flag of Flanders envelopes the dead star’s
scream.

Anabel, Anabel, where have you gone?
the Wallpaper’s tears drip my
blood.”

that’s the kind of stuff that gets the
Guggenheims.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1992
Source
Original manuscript