my doom smiles at me -
there's no other way:
8 or ten poems a
night.
in the sink
behind me are the 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 a 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
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5 comments:
I am addicted. This is bad. And I'm happy.
Haha, this reminds of your room in Knob Hill =). Good times.
Um, what are you addicted to?
Haha, but now it's my entire apartment.
I'm addicted to Bukowski poems. Couldn't tell?
Haha, no I noticed that. I thought you meant you were addicted to mess and clutter, which was a little confusing.
I'm sraight now =).
Well, I suppose that's kinda true too...
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