Yes, that question may have crossed the minds of some of the readers here–others, the more devil-may-care of my readers, couldn’t give a shit less what I write as long as its something.

The truth is that I made a big mistake two weeks ago and purchased all four volumes of the New Poems by Charles Bukowski. These were poems he held onto to be published posthumously in volumes just such as these. There are also four volumes of his selected letters of which I purchased the first book. I got a hell of a deal, $5 for each book.

I haven’t read Bukowski since graduating Creative Writing school but I remember him to be one of my favorite poets–mostly because you can actually understand what the fuck he’s writing about. Because, let’s be honest–most poets are pretentious assholes who are the only ones who understand their work. But Bukowski brought poetry back to the common man and his work has inspired me to once again set myself inside the framework of line-breaks and image.

So, if over the course of the next few weeks, you see some more verse on this page–blame Chinaski.

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