Thursday, October 31, 2013

Charles Bukowski: he knows us all

he knows us all

hell crawls through the window

without a sound
enters my room
takes off his hat
and sits down on the couch across from me.
I laugh.
then my lamp drops off the table,
I catch it just before it hits the
floor, and in doing so,
I spill my
beer. "oh shit!" I say;
when I look up again
the son-of-a-bitch
is gone–
off looking for you,
my friend?


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