some Buk



upon your darkened red mouth wild birds scream
and bowls of fish swim their jungles,
a China morning, a withered noon of axes and witches;
you desire a man-plagued sun and strands of
fiber calling my name;
beware, I am not your silly husband,
I am your silly lover
and of all your silly lovers,
the last one here.

by Charles 'Buk' Bukowski

Next Post Previous Post