He covered his bases.
He also is known as the Skid Row Poet, and his subject matter is a bit harsh for most, but enjoy:
alone with everybody
the flesh covers the boneand they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
Bukowski is interesting, because he embodies quite a bit of the worldview that one may encounter interacting with those that have been told, over, and over, and once more for good measure by our consumer-oriented society that they're insignificant and unimportant.
The part that gets me, the crazy part, really, is how many of those we serve are still full of optimism and hope.
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