Charles Bukowski

fractional note

the flowers are burning
the rocks are melting
the door is stuck inside my head
it’s one hundred and two degrees in Hollywood
and the messenger stumbles
dropping the last message into a
hole in the earth
400 miles deep.
the movies are worse than ever
and the dead books of dead men read dead.
the white rats run the treadmill.
the bars stink in swampland darkness
as the lonely unfulfilled the lonely.

there’s no clarity.
there was never meant to be clarity.

the sun is diminishing, they say.
wait and see.

gravy barks like a dog.

if I had a grandmother
my grandmother could whip your

free fall.
free dirt.
shit cost money.
check the adds for sales…

now everybody is singing at once
terrible voices
coming from torn throats.
hours of practice.

it’s almost entirely waste.
regret is mostly caused by not having
done anything.
the mind barks like a dog.
pass the gravy.

it is so arranged all the way to
next meter reading date:
JUN 20.

and I feel good.