30 days of poems: day one

The older I get, the less I dislike Bukowski, whose womanizing and misogyny I find off-putting and have allowed me to overlook the ways in which his life experiences (abuse, alcoholism, loss, depression,  loneliness, etc.) parallel mine. I’ve been trying to put aside my preconceived notions about him and focus on his work rather than his person; I’ve surely been able to do that with other writers (Faulkner, e.g.), so why not Bukowski? And so many of his poems speak to how I’ve been feeling the past few days, it’s difficult to choose just one. This one seems to be the least depressing, the one that would set off the fewest alarm bells among my readers. Thus begins this iteration of 30 Days of Poetry. I’m somewhat certain I’ll have a regular blog post later today as well, so stay tuned. 

Alone With Everybody

By Charles Bukowski

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
and nobody finds the
but keep
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than

there’s no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else