the gas line is leaking, the bird is gone from the cage, the skyline is
dotted with vultures; Benny finally got off the stuff and Betty now has a
job as a waitress; and the chimney sweep was quite delicate as he giggled
up through the soot. I walked miles through the city and recognized nothing
as a giant claw ate at my stomach while the inside of my head felt airy as
if I was about to go mad. it’s not so much that nothing means anything but
more that it keeps meaning nothing, there’s no release, just gurus and
self- appointed gods and hucksters. the more people say, the less there is
to say. even the best books are dry sawdust. —from fingernails; nostrils;
shoelaces

Charles Bukowski—The People Look Like Flowers At Last - New Poems

€10.00Price
  • 006057707X