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the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.
there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.
nobody ever finds
the one.
the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill
nothing else
fills.
Anonymous submission.
Charles Bukowski
Read poems about / on: women, city, sometimes, fate, alone, woman
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| Comments about this poem (Alone With Everybody by Charles Bukowski) |
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Poenee La (7/11/2008 4:55:00 PM)
bukowski is a sad, bitter old man with a realism that is refreshing to us that live with dreamers, with that said his dreams were in the dark where dreams are meant to be had |
Angie Arellano (9/16/2007 12:45:00 AM)
if we accept from the beginning that nobody ever, ever and never finds the one, we would be much happier with who we got. He will be, not THE ONE, but one of the possibilities.
I believe this is why Buk is the poet of the moment. He shows us what we already know, but we don't have concience of it.
Why do we like him? may be because he represents human suffering but with courage and humor. So close to any of us. We're all jokers...aren't we? |
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Charles Bukowski
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