The Sands of Hell
One more time, one last time, come with me to see the ghosts of Huron,
The long boat’s crack and wreck feel the labor of silent men and women in a world
That doesn’t pretend to know or understand.
Category: Poetry
Bukowski In Church
He drank the song he sang, then sang the drink away. He was beautiful in the evening and wilted in the morning, not remembering why he was still standing, still awake. Life is like that some say–not he–he preferred to drink and sing and not philosophize his life away. He kept …