- Joined
- May 27, 2020
- Messages
- 32,488
99 to one By Charles Bukowski
The blazing shark wants my balls,
as I walk through the meat section
looking for salami and cheese.
Purple housewives
fingering 75 cent avocados
know my shopping cart
is an oversized cock.
I am a man with a
switchball watch
standing in a
honkey-tonk phone booth
sucking strawberry red titty
upside-down
in a Philadelphia crowd.
Suddenly all about me
are screams of
Rape, rape, rape, rape... rape.
And I am stiffing it
to something beneath me
dyed red hair,
bad breath,
blue teeth.
I used to like Monet,
I used to like Monet
very much
it was funny,
I thought the way
he did it with colors.
Women are so expensive.
Dog leashes are expensive.
I'm going to start selling air
in dark orange bags
marked "Moon Blooms".
I used to like bottles full of blood
young girls and camel-haired coats,
prince valiant,
popeye's magic touch.
The struggle is in the struggle like
a corkscrew.
A good man doesn't get cork in the wine.
The thought has occurred to
millions of men while shaving:
The removal of life
might be preferred to the removal
of hair.
Spit out cotton.
And clean your rear-view mirror,
Run like you mean it -
drunk jock.
The whores will win.
The fools will win.
But break,
like a horse out of the gate.
*I mean no disrespect towards women, I am simply reciting the poem as it is, Bukowski is known as the drunk old bastard of American poetry*
The blazing shark wants my balls,
as I walk through the meat section
looking for salami and cheese.
Purple housewives
fingering 75 cent avocados
know my shopping cart
is an oversized cock.
I am a man with a
switchball watch
standing in a
honkey-tonk phone booth
sucking strawberry red titty
upside-down
in a Philadelphia crowd.
Suddenly all about me
are screams of
Rape, rape, rape, rape... rape.
And I am stiffing it
to something beneath me
dyed red hair,
bad breath,
blue teeth.
I used to like Monet,
I used to like Monet
very much
it was funny,
I thought the way
he did it with colors.
Women are so expensive.
Dog leashes are expensive.
I'm going to start selling air
in dark orange bags
marked "Moon Blooms".
I used to like bottles full of blood
young girls and camel-haired coats,
prince valiant,
popeye's magic touch.
The struggle is in the struggle like
a corkscrew.
A good man doesn't get cork in the wine.
The thought has occurred to
millions of men while shaving:
The removal of life
might be preferred to the removal
of hair.
Spit out cotton.
And clean your rear-view mirror,
Run like you mean it -
drunk jock.
The whores will win.
The fools will win.
But break,
like a horse out of the gate.
*I mean no disrespect towards women, I am simply reciting the poem as it is, Bukowski is known as the drunk old bastard of American poetry*
Last edited: