The Writer- Charles Bukowski

Članak

neatly

the night comes

in-

my same nurses,

and here comes

a cat,

meyow,

and here comes a man

with a face like the side of a

mountain,

and here comes this

and here comes that-

people driving into special driveways,

free for an instant

until the morning’s alarm

clock,

and I’ve done what?

I’ve sat here all day at this

window.

just think what interesting deaths

they have met.

yes.

I’ve lived in their

factories.

I know what it means to be desparately tired,

tired beyond tiredness

and now I know what it means to be sitting inside of

the mind

alone

like some bird in a cage.

the landlady brings me a bowl of soup;

they think I’ve gone

mad. have

I?

neatly the night comes

down.

my own death is as interesting as

any.

I live in a factory of poems and

stories;

if I do not produce good wares

all kindness toward me  will

end. no man stands

free. but I am freer than

most:

the bird flies and whirls about the cage

then lands upon his swinging stick,

rock rock rock

little miserable

eyes.

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