there’s no other way:
8 or ten poems a
night.
in the sink
behind me are dishes
that haven’t been
washed in 2
weeks.
the sheets need
changing
and the bed is
unmade.
half the lights are
burned-out here.
it gets darker
and darker
(I have replacement
bulbs but can’t get them
out of their cardboard
wrapper.) Despite my
dirty shorts in the
bathtub
and the rest of my dirty
laundry on the
bedroom floor,
they haven’t
come for me yet
with their badges and their rules and their
numb ears. oh, them
and their caprice!
like the fox
I run with the hunted and
if I’m not the happiest
man on earth I’m surely the
luckiest man
alive.
~ Charles Bukowski
2 comments:
If your house is affected, did you or the landlord have insurance coverage for contents in the house?
hail Bukowski.. beatnik genius, albeit dark and disturbed. Too many bottles, too harsh a living, they destroyed him, or maybe they gave him inspiration for his books and poems
Post a Comment