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Slouching Toward NIRVanaNew Poems
By Bukowski, Charles
My Close Call
not a good fighter, he managed to get into some brutal
because of his darkened mind and too much to drink, he always
picked the biggest meanest fucker he could find.
winging and catching shots to the shouts of the
whore bystanders, he took some lovely beatings some
of the time.
"Hank," his best friend told him one night, "we want you to join
"I got something else to do ..."
2 days later one of the gang was wounded in a police
shoot-out and 2 others killed,
including his friend.
he went to a bar 3 blocks east, sat waiting for
an answer, sat waiting for
the moon to change into the sun,
sat waiting patiently for one thing
or another. Continues...
Excerpted from Slouching Toward NIRVana by Bukowski, Charles Excerpted by permission.
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