“She’s mad but she’s magic, there’s no lie in her fire.”
I am not, in general, a big Bukowski fan. I don’t even like this poem, “An Almost Made Up Poem,” all that much. That’s not to say that it isn’t worth reading. It’s just not my cup of tea. Probably because I’m a coffee person.
This line, from a poem I feel mostly ambivalent about, has captured my attention over the last couple of days, in the sort of way things generally catch my attention when I discover in them a glimmer of the person I want to be (or am, as the case sometimes is): I’m obsessed with this quote, this two-halves-of-two-lines-of-a-poem.