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8.9
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(23
votes)
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he drank wine all night of the
28th, and he kept thinking of her:
the way she walked and talked and loved
the way she told him things that seemed true
but were not, and he knew the color of each
of her dresses
and her shoes-he knew the stock and curve of
each heel
as well as the leg shaped by it.
and she was out again and when he came home,and
she'd come back with that special stink again,
and she did
she came in at 3 a.m in the morning
filthy like a dung eating swine
and
he took out a butchers knife
and she screamed
backing into the rooming house wall
still pretty somehow
in spite of love's reek
and he finished the glass of wine.
that yellow dress
his favorite
and she screamed again.
and he took up the knife
and unhooked his belt
and tore away the cloth before her
and cut off his balls.
and carried them in his hands
like apricots
and flushed them down the
toilet bowl
and she kept screaming
as the room became red
GOD O GOD!
WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?
and he sat there holding 3 towels
between his legs
no caring now whether she left or
stayed
wore yellow or green or
anything at all.
and one hand holding and one hand
lifting he poured
another wine
Charles Bukowski
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Read poems about / on: freedom, house, green, red, god, home, night
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Comments about this poem (Freedom
by
Charles Bukowski
) |
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comments about this poem (Freedom by
Charles Bukowski
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Tai Chi Italy
(11/22/2008 7:04:00 PM) |
lol this reminds me of a book my dearly departe recommended where the women cut their clitoris off to free themselves of men! lol I prefer to investing in a new vibrator! lol I must admit to warming to charlie...lol Tai tittering...lol
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Ross Vassilev
(2/2/2008 7:44:00 AM) |
One stupid poem unless it's based on a real-life case.
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Charles Bukowski
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