Charles Bukowski - To The Whore Who Took My Poems lyrics

Some say we should keep
Personal remorse from the poem
Stay abstract, and there is
Some reason in this, But jezus
Twelve poems gone and I don’t
Keep carbons and you have my
Paintings too, my best ones it’s stifling:
Are you trying to crush me out
Like the rest of them?
Why didn’t you take my money? they usually do
From the sleeping drunken pants
Sick in the corner
Next time take my left arm or a fifty
But not my poems: I’m not Shakespeare
But sometime simply there won’t be any more
Abstract or otherwise
There’ll always be money and
Whores and drunkards down to the last bomb
But as God said, Crossing his legs
I see where I have made plenty of poets
But not so very much poetry