You Get So Alone at Times That It Just Makes Sense [Pehme köide]

1813-1883		13	(1)
red Mercedes		14	(3)
retired		17	(2)
working it out		19	(2)
beasts bounding through time-		21	(2)
trashcan lives		23	(1)
the lost generation		24	(2)
no help for that		26	(1)
my non-ambitious ambition		27	(2)
education		29	(3)
downtown L.A		32	(4)
another casualty		36	(2)
driving test		38	(2)
that's why funerals are so sad		40	(2)
cornered		42	(2)
bumming with Jane		44	(2)
darkness		46	(2)
termites of the page		48	(3)
a good time		51	(2)
the still trapeze		53	(2)
January		55	(2)
sunny side down		57	(2)
the man in the brown suit		59	(3)
a magician, gone		62	(3)
well, that's just the way it is		65	(1)
the chemistry of things		66	(4)
rift		70	(3)
my friend, the parking lot attendant		73	(2)
miracle		75	(1)
a non-urgent poem		76	(2)
my first affair with that older woman		78	(2)
the freeway life		80	(3)
the player		83	(2)
p.o. box 11946, Fresno, Calif. 93776		85	(2)
poor Al		87	(2)
for my ivy league friends:		89	(2)
helping the old		91	(1)
bad times at the 3rd and Vermont hotel		92	(2)
the Master Plan		94	(2)
garbage		96	(3)
my vanishing act		99	(2)
let's make a deal		101	(2)
16-bit Intel 8088 chip		103	(1)
zero		104	(1)
putrefaction		105	(2)
I'll take it		107	(2)
supposedly famous		109	(3)
the last shot		112	(1)
whorehouse		113	(5)
starting fast:		118	(2)
the crazy truth		120	(2)
drive through hell		122	(1)
for the concerned:		123	(1)
a funny guy		124	(1)
shoes		125	(1)
coffee		126	(2)
together		128	(3)
the finest of the breed		131	(2)
close to greatness		133	(2)
the stride		135	(2)
final story		137	(2)
friends within the darkness		139	(2)
death sat on my knee and cracked with laughter		141	(3)
oh yes		144	(1)
O tempora! O mores!		145	(2)
the passing of a great one		147	(2)
the wine of forever		149	(2)
true		151	(1)
Glenn Miller		152	(1)
Emily Bukowski		153	(2)
some suggestions		155	(2)
invasion		157	(7)
hard times		164	(3)
longshot		167	(4)
concrete		171	(4)
Gay Paree?		175	(2)
I thought the stuff tasted worse than usual		177	(2)
the blade		179	(2)
the boil		181	(2)
not listed		183	(3)
I'm not a misogynist		186	(3)
the lady in the castle		189	(6)
relentless as the tarantula		195	(2)
their night		197	(2)
huh?		199	(2)
it's funny, isn't it? #1		201	(5)
it's funny, isn't it? #2		206	(2)
the beautiful lady editor		208	(3)
about the PEN conference		211	(1)
everybody talks too much		212	(4)
me and my buddy		216	(2)
song		218	(3)
practice		221	(2)
love poem to a stripper		223	(2)
my buddy		225	(2)
Jon Edgar Webb		227	(2)
thank you		229	(2)
the magic curse		231	(2)
party's over		233	(1)
no nonsense		234	(1)
escape		235	(1)
wearing the collar		236	(1)
a cat is a cat is a cat is a cat		237	(2)
marching through Georgia		239	(1)
gone		240	(1)
I meet the famous poet		241	(6)
seize the day		247	(2)
the shrinking island		249	(2)
magic machine		251	(2)
those girls we followed home		253	(3)
fractional note		256	(2)
a following		258	(2)
a tragic meeting		260	(6)
an ordinary poem		266	(2)
from an old dog in his cups		268	(2)
let 'em go		270	(2)
trying to make it		272	(2)
the death of a splendid neighborhood		274	(3)
you get so alone at times that it just makes sense		277	(2)
a good gang, after all		279	(1)
this		280	(1)
hot		281	(1)
late late late poem		282	(2)
3 a.m. games:		284	(4)
someday I'm going to write a primer for crippled saints but meanwhile		288	(2)
help wanted		290	(1)
sticks and stones		291	(2)
working		293	(3)
over done		296	(2)
our laughter is muted by their agony		298	(1)
murder		299	(2)
what am I doing?		301	(1)
nervous people		302	(1)
working out		303	(1)
how is your heart?		304	(2)
forget it		306	(1)
quiet		307	(5)
it's ours		312

Charles Bukowski is one of America's best-known contemporary writers of poetry and prose and, many would claim, its most influential and imitated poet. He was born in 1920 in Andernach, Germany, to an American soldier father and a German mother, and brought to the United States at the age of two. He was raised in Los Angeles and lived there for over fifty years. He died in San Pedro, California, on March 9, 1994, at the age of seventy-three, shortly after completing his last novel, Pulp.