“Are You Drinking?”
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
year.
will see the doctor,
Monday.
“yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
hurts.”
“are you drinking?” he will ask.
“are you getting your
exercise, your
vitamins?”
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
fluctuating
factors.
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
meaningless.
I leave early after buying tickets on the
remaining races.
“taking off?” asks the motel
clerk.
“yes, it’s boring,”
I tell him.
“If you think it’s boring
out there,” he tells me, “you oughta be
back here.”
so here I am
propped up against my pillows
again
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
notebook.
something is
walking across the
floor
toward
me.
oh, it’s just
my cat
this
time.
The Juice Bar 
I love this guy I love this poem.
It it brings me sadness and yet in the empty glasses of wine and shabby bars an energy emerged that was as beautiful as an angel and God moved through this soul no matter what you think because until you lose it you never had it and when you get it you know
it ain’t all that anyway.Life is what is important Living Bukowski showed us that. Some of his poems remind me of the Confessions of Saint Augustine
earthly tomes and seeing in everything
the master stroke of Gods concerto named or un named believed or not believed Bukowski shines.
Peace
Stevie J k