This is one of the last Poems Bukowski wrote. Published in 1994, it hits like a box-wine hangover. The idea, in the attempt to save his own life, through chemo or other medicine, and at the same time actually drinking himself, while a doctor tells him he has to stop. But as a reader and fan knowing within a year of writing this poem he was going to be dead.
This poem is beautiful. It’sRaw, real, and it makes you feel happy and sick at the same time. It’s one of the few poems that I can actually read without feeling emotional.
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