| 462-0614 |
[Apr. 23rd, 2010|11:36 am] |
462-0614
I get many phonecalls now
They are all alike.
"are you Charles Bukowski,
the writer?"
"yes," I tell them.
and they tell me
that they understand my
writing,
and some of them are writers
or want to be writers
and they have dull and
horrible jobs and they can't face the room
the apartment
the walls
that night---
they want somebody to talk
to
and they can't believe
that I can't help them
that I don't know the words.
they can't believe
that often now
I double up in my room
grab my gut
and say
"Jesus Jesus Jesus, not
again!"
they can't believe
that the loveless people
the streets
the loneliness
the walls
are mine too.
and when I hang up the phone
they think I have held back my
secret.
I don't write out of
knowledge.
when the phone rings
I too would like to hear words
that might ease
some of this.
that's why my number's
listed. |
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| traffic signals |
[Apr. 23rd, 2010|11:23 am] |
traffic signals
the old folks play a game
in the park overlooking the sea
shoving markers across cement
with wooden sticks
four play, two on each side
and 18 or 20 others sit in
the sun and watch
I notice this as I move
toward the public facility
as my car is being repaired
an old cannon sits in the park
rusted and useless.
six or seven sailboats ride
the sea below.
I finish my duty
come out
and they are still playing.
one of the women is heavily rouged
wearing false eyelashes and smoking
a cigarette.
the men are very thin very pale
wear wristwatches that hurt
their wrists.
the other woman is very fat
and giggles
each time a score is made
some of them are my age.
they disgust me
the way they wait for death
with as much passion
as a traffic signal.
these are the people who believe advertisements
these are the people who buy dentures on credit
these are the people who celebrate holidays
these are the people who have grandchildren
these are the people who vote
these are the people who have funerals
these are the dead
the smog
the stink in the air
the lepers.
these are almost everybody
finally.
seagulls are better
seaweed is better
dirty sand is better
if I could turn that old cannon
on them
and make it work
I would.
they disgust me.
/charles bukowski/ |
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