here I am in the ground my mouth
open and I can’t even say
mama, and
the dogs run by and stop and piss
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking bad
and yesterday the last of my left arm
gone
very little left, all harp-like without music.
at least a drunk in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fire engines and 33 men.
I can’t do any thing.
but p.s. – Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
caterpillars.
he is very bad company.
-Charles Bukowski