Our disappointment sits between us.
Charles BukowskiI'm only interested in poetry.
Charles Bukowskiyou are
yesterday's
bouquet so sadly
raided
There is no hurry. Time means nothing
to you.
I'll use the knives for spreading
jam, and the gas to warm
my greying love.
I want so much that is not here and do not know
where to go.
Angels,
we have grown apart.
in the cupboard sits my bottle
like a dwarf waiting to scratch out my prayers.
I drink and cough like some idiot at a symphony,
sunlight and maddened birds are everywhere,
the phone rings gamboling its sound
against the odds of the crooked sea;
I drink deeply and evenly now,
I drink to paradise
and death
and the lie of love.
I will put on my shoes and shirt
and get out of here - it'll
be better for
all of us.
Without literature, life is hell.
Charles BukowskiTag: literature
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