Free Toca el piano borracho como un instrumento de percusión hasta que los dedos te empiecen a sangrar un poco by Charles Bukowski

mooooon how I adore you!
    I care for you, darling, I love you,
    the only reason I fucked L. is because you fucked
    Z. and then I fucked R. and you fucked N.
    and because you fucked N. I had to fuck
    Y. But I think of you constantly, I feel you
    here in my belly like a baby, love I’d call it,
    no matter what happens I’d call it love, and so
    you fucked C. and then before I could move
    you fucked W., so then I had to fuck D. But
    I want you to know that I love you, I think of you
    constantly, I don’t think I’ve ever loved anybody
    like I love you.
    bow wow bow wow wow
    bow wow bow wow wow.

nothing is as effective as defeat
    always carry a notebook with you
    wherever you go, he said,
    and don’t drink too much, drinking dulls
    the sensibilities,
    attend readings, note breath pauses,
    and when you read
    always understate
    underplay, the crowd is smarter than you
    might think,
    and when you write something
    don’t send it out right away,
    put it in a drawer for two weeks,
    then take it out and look
    at it, and revise, revise,
    REVISE again and again,
    tighten lines like bolts holding the span
    of a 5 mile bridge,
    and keep a notebook by your bed,
    you will get thoughts during the night
    and these thoughts will vanish and be wasted
    unless you notate them.
    and don’t drink, any fool can
    drink, we are men of
    letters.
    for a guy who couldn’t write at all
    he was about like the rest
    of them: he could sure
    talk about
    it.

success
    I had a most difficult job
    starting my 14 year old car today
    in 100 degree heat
    I had to take the carburetor off
    leap back and forth
    adjusting the set-screw,
    a 2 by 4 jammed against the gas pedal
    to hold it down.
    I got it going---after 45 minutes—
    I mailed 4 letters
    purchased something cool
    came back
    got into my place
    and listened to Ives
    had dreams of empire
    my great white belly against
    the fan.

Africa, Paris, Greece
    there are these 2 women
    I know who are
    quite similar
    almost the same
    age
    well-read
    literary
    I once slept with both of
    them
    but that’s all
    over
    we’re friends
    they’ve been to Africa
    Paris
    Greece
    here and there
    fucked some famous men
    one is now living with a
    millionaire
    some few miles
    from here
    goes to breakfast and
    dinner with him
    feeds his fish his cats and
    his dog
    when she gets drunk she phones
    me
    the other is having it
    more difficult living
    alone in a small apartment in
    Venice (Calif.)
    listening to the bongo
    drums
    famous men seem to want
    young women
    a young woman is easier
    to get rid
    of: they have more
    places to
    go
    it is difficult for women who
    were once beautiful
    to get
    old
    they have to become more
    intelligent (if they want to
    hold their men) and do
    more things
    in bed and out of
    bed
    these 2 women I know
    they’re good both
    in and out of
    bed
    and they’re intelligent
    intelligent enough to know
    they can’t come see me
    and stay
    more than an
    hour or two
    they are quite
    similar
    and I know
    if they read this poem
    they’ll understand
    it
    just as well as they
    understand
    Rimbaud or Rilke
    or Keats
    meanwhile I have met a
    young blonde from the
    Fairfax district
    as she looks at my paintings
    on the walls
    I rub the bottoms of
    her feet.

the drunk tank judge
    the drunk tank judge is
    late like any other
    judge and he is
    young
    well-fed
    educated
    spoiled and
    from a good
    family.
    we drunks put out our cigarettes and await his
    mercy.
    those who couldn’t make bail are
    first. “guilty,” they say, they all say,
    “guilty.”
    “7 days.” “14 days.” “14 days and then you will be
    released to the Honor Farm.” “4 days.” “7 days.”
    “14 days.”
    “judge, these guys beat hell out of a man in there.”
    “next.”
    “judge, they really beat hell out of me.”
    “next case, please.”
    “7 days.” “14 days and then you will be released to the
    Honor Farm.”
    the drunk tank judge is
    young and
    overfed. he has
    eaten too many meals. he is
    fat.
    the bail-out drunks