Treasure Island

Charles Bukowski

(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994 / Andernach)

Love & Fame & Death


it sits outside my window now
like and old woman going to market;
it sits and watches me,
it sweats nevously
through wire and fog and dog-bark
until suddenly
I slam the screen with a newspaper
like slapping at a fly
and you could hear the scream
over this plain city,
and then it left.

the way to end a poem
like this
is to become suddenly
quiet.


Submitted by .eve.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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