He wrote like he spoke; he spoke like he wrote. Broken poetry, page after page, day after day. See him standing now at the window, reading the clouds for signs of the homeless gods who taught him how to speak, how to write, how to house them between the lines.
KHOP Möricke wrote this story.
Super!…..can see, feel this young man as he gazes in wonder at the miracle of this life.
That could serve as a flash bio of Charles Bukowski. Well done.
Nice! I had another poet in mind though: Hölderlin