Poems by Charles, Pt. 1 Charles Bukowski

At the end of feat, the blackbird walks
Shocked by palisades of ice and worn out shoes
Shocked by nerve gas
Shock by pinnacles of spinach
Shock by the broken-wing bluebird

Ol' Notre Dame football teams run through my room, sands whirl inside stovepipes
Never getting a Pulitzer prize
Shakespeare is 401, Joe Lewis is 51
A young boy stands outside throwing dust dry rocks against the garage
"THAP! THAP! THAP!"
Shocked by the body's limpid drag disease flab
Shocked by tourniquets of music and elevators
Not shocked to learn that Beethoven was a drunkard
The angular daydream huddles against the fence like an old man
"Jesus Charlie," it says, "Jesus Charlie they surely got us now," Hm

Then, night fear
Fear of never sleeping with a young girl who'd never heard of Rimbaud
Fear of platitude and poverty
Fear of a long death
Fear of cameras and landlords and bosses
Fear of children and wives
Fear of cancer and round shoulders
Fear that Sartre's asleep
Fear that [?] is kidding
Fear that there isn't anybody here