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it's no longer any good, sucker, they've | turned out the lights, they've blocked the rear entrance and the front's on fire; nobody knows your name; down at the opera they play checkers; the city fountains piss blood; the extremities are reamed and they've hung the best barber; the dim souls have ascended; the cardboard souls smile; the love of dung is unanimous; it's no longer any good, sucker, the graves have emptied out onto the living; last is first, lost is everything; the giant dogs mourn through dandelion dreams; the panthers welcome cages; the onion heart is frosted, destiny is destitute, the horns of reason are muted as the laughter of fools blockades the air; the champions are dead and the newly born are smitten; the jetliners vomit the eyeless through space; it's no longer any good, sucker, it's been getting to that right along and now it's here and you can't touch it smell it see it because it's nothing everywhere as you look up or down or turn or sit or stand or sleep or run, it's no longer any good, sucker. it's no longer any good sucker sucker sucker and if you don't already know I'm not surprised and if you do, sucker, good luck in the dark going nowhere.
Charles Bukowski, the man who named this site, was one of the greatest writers of all time. That may seem a bold statement but his work backs it up. He was also incredibly prolific, (Click here for a list of his books) producing over forty-five Books of poetry and prose before his death in 1994, and subsequently volumes of letters and other previously unpublished work has been made available.
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