A Bukowski Valentine

  • Sun
    Feb 12
    11:30 am -
    12:00 pm
  • Mon
    Feb 13
    2:30 pm -
    3:00 pm

Charles Bukowski and friend 

 

 

Monkeys chant,

Bukowski moans about how much

he hates the human race,

Kerouac wanders the North Beach district,

and we end it all with the melancholy musings

of John Coltrane. 

Happy Valentine's, Ghostkateers!

 

Poem with Eyes

 

They walk toward Missouri now,

soaked, some with wounds

above their eyes.

Her eyes are brown as this

is not September.

You close your eyes

and you can see

droplets bombing the dust

leaving small craters.

The fox-eyed

dreams mewing in the umber:

medicine

bottles, blue, plugged with black rubber

eye droppers and small enough

to be concealed in your hand.

I’d almost        

always rather close my eyes and sleep.

Behold the sleepy eyes and the

crab apple tree.

It was the way his eyes bugged and squinted.

My eyes are the rivers flowing

back to me through the darkness,

the last fires before daybreak

flickering.

Moments before a great winter storm,

car lights, like half-closed eyes;

tall hemlocks sway with ice.