Bukowski.

This whole week I've been having a strange craving for some of Charles Bukowski's work. I mean, who else can get away with writing poetry about 'kissing away' in a public park, or his cat's balls?
I mean that's not the reason i like him of course... i just love his imagery of the City of Angels, and just the sporadic nature of his poems. He sounds so pissed off in so many of them.
I think i'll make a trip to the library.