It's Raining In Love by Richard Brautigan

I don't know what it is,
  but I distrust myself
  when I start to like a girl
  a lot.
  It makes me nervous.
  I don't say the right things
  or perhaps I start
  to examine,
  evaluate,
 compute
  what I am saying.
  If I say, "Do you think it's going to rain?"
  and she says, "I don't know,"
  I start thinking : Does she really like me?
  In other words
  I get a little creepy.
  A friend of mine once said,
  "It's twenty times better to be friends
  with someone
  than it is to be in love with them."
  I think he's right and besides,
  it's raining somewhere, programming flowers
  and keeping snails happy.
  That's all taken care of.
  BUT
  if a girl likes me a lot
  and starts getting real nervous
  and suddenly begins asking me funny questions
  and looks sad if I give the wrong answers
  and she says things like,
  "Do you think it's going to rain?"
  and I say, "It beats me,"
  and she says, "Oh,"
  and looks a little sad
  at the clear blue California sky,
  I think : Thank God, it's you, baby, this time
  instead of me.

San Francisco by Richard Brautigan

This poem was found written on a paper bag by Richard Brautigan in a landromat in San Francisco. The author is unknown.


By accident, you put
Your money in my
Machine (#4)
By accident, I put
My money in another
Machine (#6)
On purpose, I put
Your clothes in the
Empty machine full
Of water and no
Clothes


It was lonely.

unclassical symphony by Charles Bukowski

the cat that died
in the middle of the street

tire-crushed in non-vain
glory

it was nothing

and neither were
we

look
away.

a cat is a cat is a cat is a cat by Charles Bukowski

she's whistling and clapping
for the cats
at 2 a.m.
as I sit here
with my wine and my
Beethoven.

"they're just prowling," I
tell her...

Beethoven rattles his bones
in majesty.

and those damn cats
don't even care
about
any of that.

and
if they did
I wouldn't like them
at
all;

things begin to lose their
natural value
as they near
human
endeavor.

nothing against
Beethoven:

he did fine
for what he
was

but I wouldn't want
him
on my rug
with one leg
over his head
while
he was
licking
his balls.

Startled into Life Like Fire by Charles Bukowski

in grievous deity my cat
walks around

he walks around and around
with electric tail and
push-button
eyes

he is
alive and
plush and
final as a plum
tree

neither of us understands
cathedrals or
the man outside
watering his
lawn

if I were all the man
that he is cat--
if there were men like this
the world could
begin

he leaps up on the couch
and walks through
porticoes of my
admiration.