The Bluebird in my Heart

Bluebird
Charles Bukowski

There's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever,
I only let him out at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him die
and we sleep together like that
with our secret pact

and it's nice enough to
make a man weep,
but I don't weep, do you?


Henry Charles Bukowski (August 16, 1920 – March 9, 1994) was a German American poet, novelist, and short story writer. Bukowski's writing was heavily influenced by the geography and atmosphere of his home city of Los Angeles,
and is marked by an ...emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans,
the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women, and the drudgery
of work. A prolific author, Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds
of short stories, and six novels, eventually having over 60 books in
print. In 1986 Time called Bukowski a "laureate of American lowlife."[4]