• picked

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 pour 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?

This was published in Bukowski's book "The Last Night of the Earth Poems" circa 1992

Analysis ( hide ) It's a straight-talk confession from a barstool, flipping the classic lyrical bird (like a nightingale) for a ragged bluebird choking on smoke and whiskey - this ain't romance, it's survival.
The writer's whole act is built on being a hard bastard, but this one cracks to show the cost: the tough guy persona is a prison keeping something soft alive.
He cops to faking it even for the paycheck ("blow my book sales in Europe"), owning up to the performance art of being a sellout misanthrope.
The form is a grimy mirror of his usual unshaven prose-poetry, but the refrain pounds like a jukebox blues track, making the cage feel real.
For the 80s Reagan-era "greed is good" machismo, this is a quiet middle finger - true feeling is a subversive, smuggled contraband.
The ending deal - "it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't" - is the real gut-punch: modern numbness is a choice you make every damn day. (ai)