“Wordsworth, Whitman, William Carlos Williams and The Beats in their respective generations moved poetry toward a more natural language. Bukowski moved it a little farther.”—Los Angeles Times Book Review, 1994
from “neither Shakespeare nor Mickey Spillane”

young young young, only wanting the Word,

going mad in the streets and in the bars,

brutal fights, broken glass, crazy women screaming in

your cheap room,

you a familiar guest at the drunk tank, North

Avenue 21, Lincoln Heights

sifting through the madness for the Word, the line

the way,

hoping for a check from somewhere,

dreaming of a letter from a great editor:

“Chinaski, you don’t know how long we’ve been

waiting for you!”

no chance at all.