play the piano drunk like a percussion instrument until the fingers begin to bleed a bit, has been one of the better books, and is the second poetry book, I own.
Charles Burkowski is one very, very odd man, especially when it comes to poetry. He died when I was three so I can’t exactly ask him why he wrote so choppily – perhaps it was his style. He sort of… pushes everything in his environment around him and puts them sentence after sentence, line after line, word after bleeding word, and he comes up with this opinionatedly brilliant poems.
Anybody else heard of him?
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