too hot
I am here courtesy of life,
sitting tonight, stiff-necked, weary;
95 degrees now
the cats will not come in,
there is no gunfire in the streets,
this whole town is rosting its ass,
the devils in Hell are sweaty;
there is screwing only in air-
conditioned rooms.
one a.m., no sleep, no dreams, and
the miusic from the radio limps
through the air.
even the dismally lonely forget to
phone.
that's the only good part of
this.
oh, there are other decent
parts:
at least the surgeon's knife is
not at work.
the flies zoom through the
fettered space
and there's no need to
continue writing this dripping
wet poem.
right?
right.
Charles Bukowski
PENSIERO ALLA BUKOWSKI
Siamo
perle
racchiuse dentro un’ostrica
siamo l’abito di un granello di sabbia
lo scarto di un organismo
il fardello del mondo
con il vestito da sera
finiremo nel pattume
Giordano Montanaro
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento